


Rusted

by WinterTongue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Be Careful And Mind The Tags, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Dorks in Love, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Humor, Mutual Pining, Not Really Character Death, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, The Blip, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 97,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTongue/pseuds/WinterTongue
Summary: Eve is many things, and kind is one of them. She spends her Saturdays giving away food and prosthetics to the homeless and poor. She designs, creates, and fixes prosthetics for a small company that has no knowledge that she's manufacturing and giving away free prosthetics. And now, no one can know there's an assassin in her apartment.





	1. |CHAPTER ONE|

Three months have passed since Sergeant Robertson put a bullet in his mouth. Two months since his funeral. One since his sister, Eve, sorted through his belongings. And now, kneeling at his grave with a bouquet of his favorite flowers, she’s finally accepting that he’s gone.

Adam Crux Robertson  
March 12, 1983 –January 24, 2010  
Sergeant, Son, Brother

God, where did she go wrong?

Eve takes a detour home. Instead of biking straight to her apartment, she decides to cut through the park. She could use the fresh air, and watching the stars emerge like ancestral gods from the air pollution has always been a comfort. Her mom was an astronomer, and she’d wake Eve and Adam up at ungodly hours so she could point out the constellations.

She finds a few. Lyra, Ophiuchus, Sagittarius. And then she spots him.

He’s sitting with his back against a tree, looking straight up at the stars. He looks tired. He’s not near a lamppost, so she can’t see it in his expression, but his posture gives it away. Slumped shoulders, hunched back.

Her brother’s method of giving back to the world was like their dad’s. Military service. Their mom couldn’t care less about giving back; she had her family and her job, and nothing else mattered. But Eve?

Eve walks over.

His head jerks over. His entire body tenses like he’s about to run. Eve smiles as bright as she can.

“Hi. I’m Eve. Mind if I sit?”

Yes, he does. It’s obvious. But he nods anyway, and Eve keeps a comfortable distance between them. Instead of letting uncomfortable silence settle and suffocate, she points up at a certain point in the sky. “That’s Aquila. If you look at it like this…”

She traces the stars.

“…you can see that it’s an eagle. In Roman mythology, this is the eagle that carried Jupiter’s thunderbolts. That one is Hercules, the strongman, and it’s the second biggest modern constellation. Its brightest star is Beta Hercules. See it?”

She doesn’t look over at the man. She feels him staring at her, and she honestly doesn’t expect a response, verbal or otherwise. Instead, she keeps pointing out constellations and gives a bit of their backstory. She smiles fondly when she reaches one in particular.

“Cygnus is my personal favorite. It has two names, unlike the others. The Northern Cross and the Swan. It sits right on the plane of the Milky Way. I went to Dubai a few years back, and I swear, Cygnus never looked more beautiful than it did while I was there.” Eve cracks her neck. It’ll be in a kink with all this stargazing, not that she minds.

“Why?”

It’s the first time he’s spoken, and Eve would be lying if she said it didn’t surprise her. His voice is deep and on the scratchy side, and oddly toneless. She shrugs it off.

“Well, my mom said that I was her ‘Little Swan’ all the time, and that I was graceful as one.” She chuckles. “She wanted me to be a ballerina and thought that, by saying I was similar to a swan, I’d want to dance. It didn’t work, though, because I preferred sneaking to my friend’s house to watch her dad work in his garage. I’d rather burn my hand on hot metal than stand on my toes all day.”

The silence comes back. Eve catches a glimpse of silver; his arm is metal. A prosthetic.

She smiles excitedly. “That’s what I do!”

He stares at her oddly.

Eve clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I make, design, and repair prosthetics. Didn’t realize you had one, and it looks high tech, so I freaked out. Sorry.”

Is glaring the only thing he knows how to do?

Eve shifts uncomfortably. “I, uh, I gotta get home. But I’m here every Saturday evening. There’s a lot of homeless veterans that I make prosthetics for, and I wouldn’t mind doing a tune up for you. All free, of course. If you’re interested.”

She waves lamely and walks away, feeling a little more unsafe than before.

That was Monday. The rest of the week is spent going over the new designs for a leg prosthesis from hip to ankle. There were a few kinks, and then there was the idea for a ‘foot’ that would allow for maximum balance, which Eve spent an hour talking about in a video conference. Finally, that was ironed out, and all Eve had to do on Friday was send out blueprints.

That night, she spent some time cleaning. The frames had to be dusted, the floor vacuumed, and Eve is pretty sure there’s a cat that’s been sneaking in and sleeping on the couch. She leaves the window cracked, anyways, and heads to bed.

She wakes up before her alarm. Three hours before it, actually. Eve usually has strange, vivid dreams, and last night was no different. Still, she was hoping to at least sleep until six AM, like she’d planned.

Eve smirks at the orange tabby cat on her couch. It doesn’t even wake up when she quietly moves about, making coffee and toast. It does hiss when she knocks over a bin of spare parts.

“Rude,” she says automatically. The cat glares balefully. “I’m letting you sleep here, mister, the least you could do is be cordial.”

The feline curls back up. Eve imagines it saying, ‘Fuck you, human.’

She also realizes that the cat is female, and that it has tags. The cat lets Eve come closer, read the tags, and even allows a good five minutes of petting before making her displeasure known.

Eve goes back to revising her pitch for free veteran prosthetics. If her higher ups knew she was already giving away thousand-dollar inventions to the homeless, she’d be fired. Ah, well. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Per usual, Eve makes lunch for the evening. Thirty sandwiches, two packs of water bottles, and enough equipment to fix whatever today brings. She shoves it all in a suitcase. The cat, Goose, left hours ago, but Eve leaves the window open in case she comes back. She also puts out some water. Her parents never let her have a pet, since Adam was allergic, but know that she’s alone…

_Enough of that train of thought.___

_ __ _

The bicycle ride takes all of fifteen minutes. She’s mastered the art of wheeling a thirty-two-pound suitcase behind her while keeping out of the way of pedestrians. It’s been about ten years since she started doing this. Plenty of time for practice.

She doesn’t bother chaining up her bike. She has enough money to buy a new one if it gets stolen, and she never bothered to buy a new ride after she got her first two-tire. Sure, there were paint jobs and alterations, but it’s lasted this long. Since she was eight, actually.

To her disappointment, Eve doesn’t see the guy from Monday night. She smiles, anyways, and chats amiably with her regulars.

Matt Davidson. A shark chewed off his leg.

Lieutenant Fernanda Gomez. Lost a few toes and his right foot due to diabetes.

Peter Stanford and his girlfriend, Margo Russo. Their daughter, Mia, has cancer, but they amputated her right arm.  
Jeff Carter got high and decided to make a smoothie. It got stuck and he decided the best remedy would be to stick his hand into the blender, while it was one. He has one and a half fingers on his left hand.

The rest come and go. Regular ol’ homeless people. Veterans, runaways, people with stories they aren’t ready to tell. Eve gives them as much food and water as they want. Some leave immediately, others stay for the company. If they need to talk, Eve listens. It’s a fair trade, in Eve’s opinion.

Then the adjustments start. Because a lot of these people don’t have a place to stay, their prosthetics get banged up pretty easily. Most of the time, it takes a bit of tweaking and a shine to get it fixed. But there are times where its irreparable, and Eve takes the prosthesis home to remake it or order new parts.

In the middle of Mia’s adjustment, Eve notices Monday again. He’s half-hidden and nondescript, but who else would it be?

She patiently waits for the crowd to clear. She saves four sandwiches and two bottles of water to split between them; by the time everyone is gone, it’s time for dinner, and Eve is starting to doubt that the man will gather his courage.

He does.

Eve smiles just as brightly as before, pushing aside any nerves she gets from being alone with a stranger. Monday’s built, though, and she can’t stop her hands from trembling as she holds them out.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” she tells him. “It’s not poisoned, you know. But I might have a turkey, cheese, and mayo somewhere—”

He takes it and sits down, obviously on edge. Eve doesn’t bother with making idle conversation; why bother, when he’s not comfortable with responding to small talk? Instead, she eats her dinner in mildly tense silence. She breaks it before long.

“Does your arm need any fixing?” She gets a blank stare in return. “It’s free. I don’t want anything in return. And yours is really well-developed, so I won’t lie, I want to learn about it. But if you say no, that means no, and I won’t bother you again. Well, not about the arm.”

“No.” Monday pauses. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. Was the sandwich edible?”

He nods curtly. “You didn’t poison it.”

Well then.

“Next week’s better,” Eve tells him. “Lasagna. My parents hated cooking, so I learned for my brother and myself, and for being self-taught I’m pretty good. And do you have a name I can call you by?” Upon seeing him tense up, she quickly assures, “It doesn’t have to be your real name. It can be a nickname, pseudonym, whatever. I just need to stop calling you Monday.”

Monday’s expression crumples into confusion. “Monday?”

“Yeah. I met you on Monday, dunno anything about you, and you look like everyone does on Monday.”  
That part slipped out. Eve winces. “Not that you look bad, per say, you just have the ‘It’s-Monday-And-I-Want-To-Die’ look.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Which is why I need something else to call you.”

A brief silence. Then: “Jay.”

Eve holds out her hand. “Well, Jay, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Eve.”

He doesn’t shake her hand. Doesn’t even look at her. No, he’s staring blankly at the ground, and Eve feels her heart stumble. She knows that look.

Her dad looked the same when he came back from Iraq with his legs missing. Her brother looked the same before he decided to end it all. And that confusion, that slightly off air? Her grandma was like that when her dementia progressed.

“Does your name start with that letter?” He doesn’t respond. Eve nods, even though he’s not looking at her. “You know, blue jays are used in folklore as symbolism for intelligence, determination, protection, fearlessness and clarity.”  
Jay looks over at her, now. Eve is struck by the strange feeling that he’s looking through her rather than at her. She decides to keep talking.

“I’ve never really understood symbolism in the spiritual manner like that, but facts I do understand. Even the ones that seem useless have at least some use, otherwise they wouldn’t be facts, they’d be assumptions. But I do get why blue jays symbolize protection—even though owls and hawks are their predators, they still chase them away from their nests. They don’t give up.”

A little bit of the fog has left his expression. He says something under his breath, and Eve can’t make out anything but ‘alley’, but then Jay is on his feet. No goodbye, no ‘thank you’. He leaves, and Eve makes a mental note to buy a journal.

She does, on the way home. Two. She labels on ‘Jay’ and the other ‘Facts’. When she gets home, she spends three hours writing down every fact she’s ever learned, and by the time she’s filled it from cover to cover, it’s already Sunday, and she’ll be getting a call from her parents soon.

Around one the call arrives. The usual questions are asked.

How are you? How was your day? Any plans? Any boyfriends? No boys at all? Are you sure you aren’t gay? Are you coming down for the holidays this year or are we going to you?

And, per usual, the call ends over an hour later. Only it’s not because of the usual reasons.

“I think it’s my year to go do—”

_Creak.___

_ __ _

Eve turns around quickly. Jay stares at her, right outside her window, looking like he’s been through hell and back. His metal arm is on full display; the panels look dented in some areas, and there’s glitching in his fingers.

_ __ _

“Hey, I gotta go, Mom, and I love you, but can I call you later?”

_ __ _

Eve hands up as soon as she gets confirmation. The phone is dropped onto the couch, and Eve does the one thing she should really know better than to do.

_ __ _

She opens the window fully and helps Jay inside. She doesn’t grill him. She’s doesn’t ask why he’s bloody, bruised, or why he’s armed with enough weapons to supply a small militia. She just hauls him to the bathroom and grabs some towels.

_ __ _

“I need to call—"

_ __ _

His flesh hand grabs her wrist. Eve clenches her jaw; his grip is tight, and there’s a wild, dark look in his eyes. “Don’t call anyone. No police or hospitals. You said you could… you said you would fix my arm. Do it.”

_ __ _

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Eve asks quietly. Her voice trembles. If she was scared before, she’s terrified now.

_ __ _

He shakes his head. The realization that the blood is someone else’s hits her like a freight train.

_ __ _

_Stay calm,_ she reminds herself. _Like you did with Dad._____

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

One deep breath, one slow exhale, and she’s looking him sternly in the eye. “I need to get my supplies if I’m going to fix your arm. Please, let go, and clean yourself up as much as possible.”

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

Jay reluctant lets her wrist go. Eve walks out, straight-backed, and allows herself a few moments to panic without having a—well, whatever his job is—watching her.

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

What the hell has she gotten herself into?

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

_Too late to back out now, whatever it is.___

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve returns to find Jay still on the toilet seat. Now, though, he’s shirtless and holding a gun in his hand. He doesn’t aim it at her, but the message is written all over his face. Any sudden moves and there’s a bullet in her skull.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

_That’s not stressful at all_, Eve thinks dumbly. Her shaking hands say otherwise.__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

God, this isn’t in her job description! This is above her pay-grade, if it’s even a job at all. She designs and makes and fixes prosthetics, she doesn’t work on them at gunpoint!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m examining your arm,” she says as evenly as she can manage, which is surprisingly even. She carefully runs her hands over the grooves in the metal and turns the prosthetic in a few directions. It’s amazing. The design is rough, but they’ve somehow interfaced it with his nervous system, allowing for full-range movement.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It moves like a real limb. Eve presses gently around the red star painted onto the shoulder. “Do you feel this?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay shakes his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So, it’s connected to his nervous system, allowing movement, but not feeling. That makes sense. It would also mean that the arm only hurts when excessive strain is put onto it. The area where the metal goes into skin is horribly scarred; it was attached quickly, not skillfully.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His fingers spasm again. He grits his teeth.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The electrical current is travelling to his muscles, then. That’s why he’s in pain.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There’s a small area between the panels that looks like an entry point. Eve uses a screwdriver to pop it open. Immediately, complex wire-work greets her. Some look like they need replacing. Others look twisted. Most look fine, if a bit old.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She frowns. The workings look like they came from decades ago, but that’s impossible This guy looks, what, in his early thirties or late twenties?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m going to need to replace some of the wires that connect to your nervous system, which is extremely painful and could take hours. There’s a few that got tangled, but separating them shouldn’t take too long, and there’s the obvious problem with the muscle coordination, and that problem should have to do with the electrical short-circuiting.” Eve frowns in concentration. “The outside panels look a bit rusty and a few are dented, but nothing too serious. I don’t have all the parts I need and getting them could take days—”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You don’t have days.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“If I rush, the arm gets worse. If I take my time—”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The gun is pressed against her forehead before she can finish her sentence. Jay glowers at her. The safety’s off. “This needs to be fixed by tonight.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And I can’t do that.” Eve silently thanks her past for giving her the necessary knowledge to seem calm. “Ordering the parts takes minutes, getting them days, fixing the arm hours. I don’t control time, Jay, but I do know how to work tech like this.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He lowers the gun. “Order the parts.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She nods. It doesn’t take but six minutes. She comes back to find Jay staring at the wall, fist clenched, and taps on the door frame to get his attention. From the way his head snaps in her direction, keeping her distance was smart. Eve doesn’t want to add a broken neck to her bruised wrist.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve repairs what she can. She untangles some wires, finds the ones that go straight to his nervous system, fixes the rusting, and adds a layer of paint to the star. She’d gotten one day shipping in the hopes that it will come before Jay shoots her dead.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oh, yeah.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You looked lost yesterday, so I bought a journal. Write down whatever comes to you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay narrows his eyes. He doesn’t take the journal Eve holds out.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And then she’s against the wall, his hand around her throat.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“How do you know?” he all but snarls.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Air, she needs air—

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“How do you know?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Stop,” she croaks. She claws at his hand, his arm, his face, but he doesn’t relax his grip—  
Eve hits the ground. She sucks in as much air as her lungs can hold. She’ll never take breathing for granted again.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“Answer me.”___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay’s voice is cold. Eve forces herself to sit up and answer him. Her words are hoarse.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“My grandma has dementia; she had the same—my grandma had the same expression as you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He breathes hard and fast. “Tell no one.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve nods.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Slowly, she stands up. Her dad may have been loud, he may have been violent, but he never hit or choked her. Her brother didn’t, either. How does one get up from that and keep going? Do you just act like it didn’t happen?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve decides that’s the best course of action.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I have some clothes for you to wear,” she says quietly, avoiding his stare. “Get a shower. Your arm is mostly waterproof, but there’s plastic bags in case.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She goes to the kitchen and grabs an ice pack for her wrist. She’ll need to wear a scarf for tomorrow’s meeting, and long sleeves. But it’s in the middle of summer. They’ll be suspicious.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay comes back soon after Eve puts leftovers in the microwave. The fact that he’s only wearing a towel doesn’t bother her; she lived with a twin brother for years, and Adam always did say he’d be a nudist if he could. Mom refused to let that happen, thankfully.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve silently hands him a stack of clothes. Her brother’s clothes. Adam was taller than Jay, but Eve knows that the clothes will be tight. Adam was always a skinny fellow. Thank God, he loved too-large clothes. Jay fills them out, so they fit well enough, but Eve can only focus on the fact that she’s in a very bad position.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay isn’t homeless. That much is obvious. He has a job—a dangerous, most likely illegal one, but a job still the same—and now Eve’s caught in the crossfire.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She slides a bowl of chicken and dumplings over to Jay, who only eats after watching her scarf down her entire serving. The reason for Eve’s haste isn’t that she’s hungry. It’s because she didn’t eat lunch or breakfast, and hypoglycemia is not fun to have.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Whose clothes are these?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The real question Jay’s asking: Is there someone else living here?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve leans against the counter, arms crossed. “My brother, Adam, used to live here. He left his clothes.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Not a lie. He did leave them. He also left the world of the living, but Jay doesn’t need to know that. It would make Eve more of a target than she already is.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Kill them with kindness, that’s always been her mindset. She left the guns and grenades to her dad and her brother and she left apathy to her mother. Grandma, though. Grandma taught her that kindness isn’t weakness, and as Eve stares down the stranger in her apartment, she smiles. It’s a tight smile, far from genuine, but if she does it enough it just might be.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve hopes that Jay won’t slit her throat.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I doubt either of us will sleep, but the couch is open if you want it, and though I don’t have television, I do have a computer. Just don’t mess with the papers I have, recreating those would be a pain in my neck. Oh, and there’s this cat that comes in named Goose. Don’t shoot her.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That seems about it. Jay only nods. His bowl is empty.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve might as well do the dishes. She doesn’t use the dishwasher; working with her hands is something that she’s always loved. She feels Jay looking at her.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“There’s two journals in the wine cabinet,” she informs as she starts to dry the dishes. She nods in the direction of said cabinet. “They’re for you. I’d planned on giving them to you next Saturday. Noticed you had memory problems and decided to try and help.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I don’t want them.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Then don’t take them.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay glares at her. Eve feels her heart in her fingertips as she grabs the dry dishes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In a display of trust—or suicidal defiance—Eve turns her back to Jay and puts them up in the cabinet.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She turns around. He hasn’t moved. His expression is somewhere between confused and angry, and Eve swallows back her fear.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re going to kill me when I fix your arm, aren’t you?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He hesitates. His voice takes on a soft undertone. “I have to.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Or you walk away. I act like I never knew you existed and you do the same.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I have to,” he repeats, harsher this time. He stands up straight and it hits Eve full force just how small she is. Jay is tall and muscular and the picture of intimidation, of danger. And Eve? She just reaches his shoulder. She’s thin and has trouble gaining weight, no matter how much she eats, due to being a premature baby, and being mean isn’t in her vocabulary.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She’s going to die.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Will I get a phone call?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A jerk of his head. No.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve closes her eyes. She gathers her courage and looks Jay in the eye.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This will either doom her or save her.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“My parents just lost my brother, Jay, I can’t die on them without at least saying goodbye.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’ll have to.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

No. No, she doesn’t.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_The bruises on your neck say otherwise,_ a small part of her whispers. _Shut up,_ she tells it.____

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Think on it,” she says instead, smiling tiredly. His expression is guarded. Eve can’t read him. She gives him one last, very forced grin before going to her room.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’s been stripped of electronics and possible weapons. She cleans up the mess and lays under the covers of her bed.  
Tomorrow, she dies.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

If only Eve knew of the internal battle in Jay’s head, just in the other room, and of the decision he came to.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. |CHAPTER TWO|

Eve didn’t sleep. She laid in bed the whole night, too afraid to move. It was like her childhood all over again. Look too far to the left or right and the monsters will be there. Move and they’ll _know_ you’re there. Hide your entire body underneath the covers, and you’re safe. Invisible, even.__

_ __ _

_Jay isn’t a monster_, she had to remind herself. _Jay is a man. A man who probably killed someone before coming to me._____

_ _ __ _ _

And then the cycle would start again.

_ _ __ _ _

Deciding against torturing herself any longer, Eve starts her day at—

_ _ __ _ _

She glares at the clock. It’s 1:47. What’s there to do at 1:47 in the morning? Nothing, that’s what.

_ _ __ _ _

Jay is awake when she walks into the living room. Eve mumbles, “Good morning,” before heading straight to the coffee pot. It’s sad, but her life depends on it. She has two or three pots a day. Four, if she’s in a bad mood. She drinks it straight from the pot, no sugar or creamer.

_ _ __ _ _

Her temporary roommate stares at her from across the room. Eve holds the eye contact and gulps down the coffee, daring him to say anything.

_ _ __ _ _

Today will be a four-pot day.

_ _ __ _ _

“Want any?” she asks half-heartedly. Jay doesn’t move in any way. “Okay, then. I’m going to make another pot later. Might brew it with energy drinks to test the true capacity of my body, I’m not sure. And stop with the judging looks, I’m dying today, and I might as well try possibly life-ending ways to drink coffee.”

_ _ __ _ _

“You aren’t dying.”

_ _ __ _ _

“I’m not what now?”

_ _ __ _ _

“You aren’t dying,” he repeats. He stalks forward. Eve shrinks back, her mind still processing what Jay said. “I don’t exist,” he says quietly, “I’ve never existed. Understand?”

_ _ __ _ _

“Yes.”

_ _ __ _ _

He steps back. Eve breathes a little easier.

_ _ __ _ _

“Good.”

_ _ __ _ _

“I’d make breakfast, but it’s way to early for me to function that well, so—”

_ _ __ _ _

“The journal,” he interrupts. “The one with the facts. Why’d you make it?”

_ _ __ _ _

“You didn’t seem like you remembered much, and I figured that I’d give you some semi-useful knowledge instead.”

_ _ __ _ _

“And the other one?”

_ _ __ _ _

“For you to remember in general. It helped Grandma; I figure it would help you to.”

_ _ __ _ _

He walks away. The conversation seems to be over, then. That’s fine.

_ _ __ _ _

Eve grabs some tools and starts disabling the toaster. It gives her something to do, and the thing needs cleaning. She never knew that kitchen appliances could get so dirty. Opening it up like this was a smart idea.

_ _ __ _ _

She disables every appliance she can. She cleans it and puts it back together while Jay watches from the corner of the room. Goose comes in at some point and Eve offers her a can of tuna.

_ _ __ _ _

Goose’s mouth completely unhinges. Tentacles come out, grab the can, and disappear. Goose blinks up at Eve’s terrified, befuddled expression. Jay aims his gun at the—at whatever Goose is, but Eve smack it from his hand. Jay stares at Eve in what she can only call fury.

_ _ __ _ _

“I don’t know what just happened to Goose but whatever it was, do you really want us to take the place of a tuna can?” she demands, eyeing both of the predators in her apartment.

_ _ __ _ _

_Knock, knock, knock.___

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

“Hello? Are you okay?”

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

Shit. Oh, _shit—___

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Hide in the closet with Goose,” Eve whispers, shoving the cat-monster-thing into Jay’s arms. He holds Goose as far as he can as he slips out of view. Eve opens the door; she doesn’t bother hiding how frazzled she is, and her neighbor looks very concerned.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I heard screaming, are you okay?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve smiles apologetically. “I woke up to a stray cat in my house. Sorry for yelling.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

The neighbor relaxes. “Thank God, it sounded like you were getting murdered. Do you need animal control?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh, no thanks, I got ‘er out. Banshee screaming did the trick.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m just next door, by the way. Oh, and my name is Sharon.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Nice to meet you, Sharon, I’m Eve.” She rubs the back of her neck. “I, uh, I’m going to go back to sleep now.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Wait!” Sharon shuffles her feet, looking embarrassed. “Was the cat a tabby? Orange, looks well fed?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yeah.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“She’s my friend’s cat,” Sharon says in a relieved tone of voice. “I was cat sitting and left the window open, like an idiot. Mind if I grab Goose?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

So, she’s a pet sitter. And Eve’s harboring a most-likely-criminal. Eve settles for an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry, but I freaked out and my scream scared her off. I can help look for Goose tomorrow?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Does this lady know her friend’s cat is not a cat? From the thankful smile Sharon’s wearing, no.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“That would be great, thanks! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

She closes the door. Sharon’s footsteps disappear. Only then does Eve quietly call for Jay to come out.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

He more or less throws Goose to the ground. She hisses at him, and for a moment Eve worries that Jay will be swallowed by her. Thankfully, Goose flees the scene, and Jay turns his glare from the feline-or-something to Eve.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

She flinches. She really shouldn’t have smacked his gun away, then. That was a big, obvious no-no.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Instead of hurting her, Jay picks his gun up and sits back down in the corner of the room to resume his vigil.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

The rest of the morning is exceedingly awkward. Jay just watches. And Eve? She busies herself until 7:43.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

That’s when she dresses fancy from the waist up and tells Jay to please not make it obvious that he’s there. Then the video call comes, and she accepts it with her Business Face on.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Good morning, Miss Robertson,” her boss says pleasantly. The rest of the gathered say the same. No one looks happy.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve, however, grins widely. “Good morning, Mr. Greene. I was told you had something for me today?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yes, we wanted to discuss your new designs.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

She nods. She knows where this is going. “Either it’s the names I gave them, or it’s the fact that the procedure to attach them isn’t as simple as putting a rubber cap on the knee and sliding the prosthetic on. I’m guessing the latter.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Both, actually. The procedure is risky—”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Not with the right surgeons, sir.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And what did Dr. Strange have to say on your idea, hm?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Nothing. His personal assistant deflects any contact he has with potential patients so he won’t look bad when he says no.” Eve raises a hand to cut off the owner of AutoLimbs. “Dr. Strange only works cases that will further his streak of success. The procedure itself would work, but the adjustment period is painful and required physical therapy. He doesn’t want that on his report card, if you will.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I want a yes or no answer, Miss Robertson.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

Out of the camera’s view, Eve starts tearing at her cuticles. A nervous, slightly bloody habit. “No, Mr. Greene.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And what was your thought process with the names?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

He pulls up a blueprint. Eve feels her cheeks burn.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I didn’t think that fancy names were needed.” _Better, answer better._ “I also believe calling it the ‘Sciatic Adhesion’ was straight forward, or at least more so than ‘Tibial-common-Peroneal-nerve adhesion’.”__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“How would you present this to a potential patient? How would you possibly turn this from ‘potentially fatal’ to ‘completely worth your time, money, and pain’?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Mr. Greene narrows his eyes. The people in the background nod amongst themselves. Eve grits her teeth; it’s a constant scrabble for power and popularity, no matter the industry, and it pisses her off. Money is more important to these people than helping.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I would present it with the pros and cons, Mr. Greene, as any responsible practitioner would.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Even if it spells out possible dystrophy of the entire leg? Further amputation? Chronic, long-lasting pain?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I know people who would sell their souls to get their limb back. I think the possibility outranks the risk.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“We disagree. The designs have been vetoed. Send in the new ones by the end of the month, Miss Robertson, and make sure these are reliable.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yes, sir.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re dismissed.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The screen blinks out.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Suddenly, Eve is very happy that she made copies of the blueprints they vetoed.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay, thankfully, had stayed completely invisible and silent. She mumbles her thanks and announces, with genuine happiness, that she’s making them breakfast.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Eggs, bacon, and pancakes sound good to you?” Her response is a blank stare. “I can make waffles instead, or omelets, but I’m disastrous at crepes—”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“’S fine,” he says. First words this morning, and his voice is scratchy. Eve gives him a glass of orange juice. No table manners, but then again, does killing people really give much expectation for a ‘please’ and a ‘thank you’? No, it doesn’t.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Maybe he hasn’t killed people, though.___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_No,_ Eve thinks to herself, _he definitely killed someone._____

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“There’s a washing machine in the closet that looks like it would be a pantry,” Eve informs as she grabs out the necessary items to make breakfast. “I didn’t wash your other clothes because I have no idea how to do whatever that material is. Hydrogen peroxide is on top of the washer, though. Good for getting bloodstains out.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You hurt someone?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The poor, not-so-innocent man.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m a woman, Jay. Once a month, I deal with bloodstains, and that’s the easiest way to get ‘em out.” To her amusement, his face turns pink. Killers are still subject to embarrassment about the woman body’s natural functions. “That, and I have a tendency to burn or cut myself when toying around.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She holds up her hands. There are a few waxy-looking scars from where she’s burned herself, electrical marks just recently scabbing over, and a deep slice on her right thumb from when she decides to unscrew her dad’s arrowheads without the proper tools. It took three stitches and a week’s time of nagging to recover.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay starts doing his laundry. Eve is tense every time she turns her back on him. Despite the oddly domestic scene, her wrist and neck—

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Oh, God.___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sharon. Sharon saw. She saw the bruises.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

How the hell does she get past _this?___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And then there’s Goose. She has to help Sharon find Goose the not-cat, get the demon in disguise somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be, and she has to dance around the fact that she’s wearing long sleeves and a scarf in the middle of summer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oh, yeah. Eve clears her throat. “Sorry, how many times have you said that?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Four,” Jay tells her, arms crossed. He could snap her neck with his biceps. _Really weird thought to have, Eve._ “What happened?” he asks again, still cold-toned.__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Well, he definitely can’t know, but what’s lying going to do? Get her killed, that’s what.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“My neighbor might have saw my bruises from where you strangled me earlier.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His gaze darts down to her neck. Emotionless, he says, “Lie.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

What else could she do? Go up and say, ‘Oh, hi, Sharon, those bruises you saw earlier? Yeah, big guy tried to kill me and he’s currently in my apartment while we’re cat-tracking. Anyways, how’s the weather?’

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I know,” Eve says instead. She doesn’t like to voice her sarcasm, especially since it could get her killed in this situation. “I remembered a turtleneck for the meeting, though, so at least my boss didn’t notice.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Your boss is an asshole.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve raises her eyebrows. He said it matter-of-factly, but the fact that he said anything at all is surprising.  
“No, he answers to someone above himself, and he’d rather keep his job and maintain appearances than take a beneficial risk. He acts like an asshole, but I walked into his office once to find him crying over an ASPCA commercial, and I’ve never been able to think of him as anything other than Mr. Greene.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His interest is lost. Eve resumes making breakfast. By the time she’s finished, she’s made the entire box of pancakes, half a carton of scrambled eggs, and bacon for days.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She quickly discovers that, in addition to a metal arm, Jay has an insatiable appetite. Eve doesn’t know if she’s shocked, awed, horrified, or fascinated as he eats over half of what she made. She’s even more intrigued when he goes for seconds.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Until he slides the plate towards her.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve stares at him, not quite processing the action. Jay only waits for her to take the plate.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“What happened to wanting to kill me?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Eat.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Why, though? Eve forks the eggs into her mouth. Weirdly enough, a look of satisfaction briefly overcomes Jay’s expression. She shovels the rest in and starts cleaning the dishes. Jay retreats to the corner she supposes he’s claimed as his watch-post, and Eve gets uneasy when he starts cleaning his assortment of weapons.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of metal clinking and grinding against other metal is usually relaxing for Eve. Now, not so much. Not when it’s a killer in the corner of her room, surrounded by weapons that he could kill her with before she could scream.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Why isn’t he killing her? And what the hell was with the whole giving her food thing? Does she remind him of someone? That’s the only possible answer, in Eve’s opinion. She reminds him of someone, and that’s why she’s alive.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

How comforting.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The bell rings. Jay cocks his gun and aims it at the doorway. Eve doesn’t bother telling him to lower it. Instead, she drags in the package, opens it up, and starts sorting through the supplies.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wires, metal plating, corrosion preventing coating, and a nice hunk of bubble wrap to pop when stressed. She gestures for Jay to sit. He complies.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve grabs a few tools. A flathead screwdriver, some clamps, nothing you can’t pick up at a hardware store. She gets to work. There’s no gun pointed at her this time, and Eve’s hands are much steadier because of it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Okay,” she mumbles, “I’m going to mess around with the circuit a moment. You might get some muscle spasms, but stay as still as possible, okay?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He sets his jaw. Eve gets to work.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She walks him through what she’s doing. She doesn’t take a break; instead, she spends six and a half hours working on his arm, and somehow Jay manages to stay completely still. She devotes every second to memory, too, for further prosthesis inventions and remodeling. The design is so intricate and, while rugged, very durable.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“There!” she says triumphantly. “All fixed. I’m going to put on a layer of corrosion prevention on, though, because the plating closest to you shoulder is a bit rusty.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

No response. He’s zoned out again. She remembers how he jerked the last time he got out of it, how he nearly lashed out, and takes a few steps back.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She helped a bit when she rambled, right?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“My mom wasn’t a cook and since Dad was deployed most of the time, my grandma taught me how to. I fed Adam and myself for years. He said that I made the snicker doodles he’d ever tasted, so I’d send them to him while he was overseas. My parents said I was spoiling him and making him fatter than he needed to be, but Grandma told me that they could shove it, and no one contradicted Grandma.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Snicker doodle?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There he is. Eve smiles. “Yep. Best snicker doodle in the USA, according to my little brother.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m wearing his clothes.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yep. Lucky, they fit, too, because he was just as scrawny as me, but with the benefit of being tall. I’m stuck being short."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He’s on his feet right after I say that. His laundry is done, and instead of going to another room, he drops his pants. Eve looks away, trying to give him privacy—even though he’s obviously not concerned about that—and when he’s done changing, he’s re-equipping his weapons. Eve starts peeling her thumb.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re not taking the journals.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“No.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He starts for the window. Eve wipes the blood off her thumb. “I’m keeping them, just so you know. In case you decide you want more breakfast.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Where the hell did that come from? You’re basically a scientific genius, why are you telling the stranger that choked you out hours ago to come back? That’s the definition of what not to do, dumb ass!___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay’s obviously thinking the same. Instead of replying, though, he leaves just as quickly as he came.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She rubs her wrist. It’s sore. A painful reminder of why she should not have given Jay an invitation to return for some morning waffles. God, really, what was she thinking?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Too late to take it back now.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Make lunch,” she tells herself. “Make lunch now, wonder why you’re an idiot later.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She’s pulling out cheese when the knock comes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve opens the door for Sharon. She looks around, makes polite conversation that Eve politely reciprocates, even though neither seem particularly interested in small talk.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve ends it first. “Okay. Neither of us want to talk about the weather. No one does.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sharon smiles more genuinely than before. “Sorry. I’ve lived next door for almost a year now, and every time I’ve seen you, you never really paid attention to your surroundings, so I have no idea how to make a conversation with these circumstances.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Want me to bake a late ‘hey you live next door’ pie?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“How about a ‘we found Goose’ pie?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I can do that,” Eve informs. “Let’s get to it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And the search begins.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sharon is actually pretty cool. She’s smart, a little unsure of how to progress with talking, but nice in her own, awkward way. Eve learns that she’s a nurse, and that she works mainly in the infectious disease ward. She hates the color blue and is allergic to peanuts. Her favorite movie is Saw, which Eve didn’t see coming. Overall, a nice lady, if a bit strange. Something amiss.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

What’s up with these slightly off people? Eve asks herself as they comb through yet another street.  
And lo and behold, there’s the devil herself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Goose blinks lazily from the inside of a baby stroller. She’s sprawled herself across the child, basically smothering the baby’s face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sharon curses. Apparently, she has quite the mouth on her. After five minutes of explanation and another three of extraction, Goose is on her way to Sharon’s apartment.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’ll bake a celebration pie tomorrow,” Eve tells Sharon. She’s pretty much exhausted, between running around for the not-cat and tending to a bionic arm.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sharon’s cool about it, though. Eve likes her. She can see them being friends.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve closes and locks the window, that night. She eats four grilled cheeses straight off the pan. Her shower is long and hot. And by God, she doubts she’s ever slept so soundly in her life.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. |CHAPTER THREE|

The Winter Soldier stands in the Siberian HYDRA compound. He’s the picture of stoicism, the perfect weapon. His handler walks in with the book. The red cover provokes a tenseness in the Asset’s shoulders. He hates that book and he doesn’t know why.

His mind is torn apart. Pieces are where he physically is, in HYDRA’s care, where he belongs. But his thoughts keep straying back that woman. Eve Robertson, her name was.

There’s something familiar about her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t kill her. He tells himself that the reason lies in that she wasn’t his mission; he lies to himself.

No witnesses. His handler had said no witnesses.

He left a witness.

“Отчет о миссии.”

The Soldier answers automatically. Ever the good asset. “Цель уничтожена, свидетелей нет. Два агента погибли.”

His handler smiles. His hands are clasped in front of him, the star on the cover glaring up at the Winter Soldier, who steels himself against the urge to flinch.

“Я не помню техник с тобой, солдат.”

Why did he think that they wouldn’t notice the repairs? HYDRA always, always notices.

What does he do now? Does he lie? Does he tell the truth? Does he damn the only person that’s showed him anything like humanity in years? Who would he be sparing, really, if he told at all? Himself, or Eve?

_“Think on it.” Her smile is strained, tired. The bruises on her neck unsettle him._

__

_Someone else, just as tiny as her, but this one is pale. His fists are raised._

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Jerk."_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“No!”_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Sergeant—”_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Howard?”_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“…you can see that it’s an eagle.”_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“Please—”_

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_“—Barnes?”___

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Ответь мне, солдат. Кто знает о тебе?”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Нет свидетелей,” the Asset lies. No witnesses. Нет свидетелей._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Я думаю, что вы лжете мне, солдат.”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _His handler isn’t smiling anymore. He idly flips through the pages, not once looking away from the Asset. “Это твой ответ? Нет свидетелей?”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Да.”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _His handler nods. The Soldier doesn’t fight the hands that push him down into the seat. He opens his mouth as soon as the scientist comes into view with a mouth guard; he knows the drill. He’s done this before. Countless times._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _He knows not to fight when the headpiece comes down. He’s intimately knowledgeable of the mechanical whirring, the electrical hum, the blinding pain. He’s familiar with his own screams and how they burn his throat._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _It goes on and on and on until there’s a blank canvas in the chair, a man shaped of clay for HYDRA to mold, and then come the words. Each one is a stitch, a small pinprick in his skull. The clay hardens. The canvas is painted red and silver._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Привет, Солдат.”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _His handler. The Winter Soldier knows his reply. “Готовы соблюдать.”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _“Отчет о миссии.”_ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _And the report falls from his mouth, along with her name and status._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _Eve Robertson._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _Alive._ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
Отчет о миссии: Mission report.  
Цель уничтожена, свидетелей нет. Два агента погибли: Target destroyed, no witnesses. Two agents died.  
Я не помню техник с тобой, солдат: I don’t remember the tech with you, soldier.  
Ответь мне, солдат. Кто знает о тебе: Answer me, soldier. Who knows about you?  
Нет свидетелей: No witnesses.  
Я думаю, что вы лжете мне, солдат: I think you lie to me, soldier.  
Это твой ответ? Нет свидетелей: This is your answer? No witnesses?  
Да: Yes.  
Привет, Солдат: Hello, soldier.  
Готовы соблюдать: Ready to comply.  
Отчет о миссии: Mission report.}


	4. |CHAPTER FOUR|

Vasily Karpov knows the Winter Soldier inside and out. While his book helps him control HYDRA’s fist, it has nothing to do with Colonel Karpov’s understanding of his weapon.

The Asset left a witness. Eve Robertson. Born March 12, 1983. Her only living relatives are her parents, Lynne Taylor-Robertson and Zachary Robertson. She’s an orthotist and a prosthetist with an IQ of 161. According to the Soldier’s report, she not only repaired his arm, but cooked for him and offered two journals to help him remember.

The question remains. Why did he spare her?

Looking at the pictures of Eve Robertson provides a part of the answer.

She’s a young black woman. Her hair is long and drawn into box braids; she’s thin and short; her eyes are brown and small, and seem permanently squinted from looking at machinery and drawings every day. Her nose is large and flat. Her face is square, her chin weak, and there’s a smile on her thin lips with nearly every picture.

In an abstract way, Eve Robertson reminds the Winter Soldier of pre-serum Steve Rogers, and abstract is enough to unravel years of programming, especially when Miss Robertson seems to be too kind for her own good.

Therein lies the decision. Terminate the woman or let her live.

She could be an asset to HYDRA or its downfall. Utilizing her skill set would be beneficial. Killing her would assure that the Soldier remains functional, and that HYDRA won’t be revealed.

Colonel Karpov consults his superiors. He speaks directly with Director Pierce, who decides that they’ll keep a close eye on her.

Eve Robertson is approached by Tony Stark days after the Soldier—whom, to HYDRA’s surprise, she calls Jay—with a deal. If she quits AutoLimbs, acquires a business license, and makes a joint-organization with Stark Industries, she will legally be able to give the poor and homeless prosthetics that they need. With Stark being monitored by SHIELD—and thus HYDRA, as well—Eve Robertson will be under surveillance.

The job would pay better. It will appease Robertson’s need to help those that rarely get extensive help. No one is surprised when she agrees.

Stark creates the Stark Relief Program. Robertson’s business is named Robertson’s Reanimation. The Winter Soldier is put into cryo.

HYDRA has a grip on its loose thread, now, and Miss Robertson is playing right into their hands.

Those doctors she hired to help with her ‘far-fetched’ ideas for prosthetics attached to the nervous system? HYDRA. The suppliers and donors that eagerly help her world-changing ideas? HYDRA. The governmental parties and legal agents that support her? HYDRA.

Miss Robertson is as much of a puppet as the Winter Soldier.

Her first few enhanced prosthetics are viewed as skeptical by many. The volunteers are paid handsomely for their contribution. Dr. Strange, the neurosurgeon consulted months ago by Miss Robertson to aid in the manipulation of the nervous system and brain chemistry, faces media backlash at the success Miss Robertson faces.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her smile at his airy replies.

Eve gets her father his arm back. He’s happy, for once, and that means her mom is, too. With the influx of success and money, she’s able to donate so much more. Her prosthetics help so many. Knowing she’s giving back to the world, knowing that she’s having a positive impact on the people around her, is enough to make her lighter than she’s been since her brother died.

Adam would be proud. He’d been the one to pretend to be arm-less as children, so that Eve could ‘fix’ him a limb. She’d acted as a bad guy for him to kill, and then she’d switch into ‘damsel in distress’ for him.

“I made it, Adam,” she says gently, her hands resting on his gravestone. “I wish you were here. I got Dad fully-functional metal legs. I’m helping. God, Adam, if you could see this right now…”

Eve trails off. Her throat feels tight. Tears gather in her eyes. She blinks them away with a laugh.

“And I’m blubbering. See, jerk? This is on you. I coulda fixed you up, too, like I did with Dad. Coulda helped you, got you a therapist, something. I miss you, Adam, and I really hope there’s some sort of heaven up there for you. You were way too awesome to be in the opposite sort of place. I’ve got to go to a conference, though, but I brought some flowers. Your favorites—gardenias. Never understood your obsession with them, you know, but they do smell good.”

She traces his name.

“Foxgloves are still better.”

Eve wishes she could say the words out loud. She wishes she could mention the ghost in her apartment, who reinforced her idea for a metal prosthetics attached to the nervous system. She wishes she could tell Adam about his room, still untouched even a year and a half. She wants to tell him about Jay and how he’s similar to Grandma, how every few years he’ll show up and disappear right after. She wants to tell him about how Mom forgot Adam wasn’t deployed and bought him a Christmas present and how they all cried about the gift he’ll never get to open.  
Instead, she kisses her fingers and taps the grave.

“Love you, Adam.”

And she gets on her bike. She has a meeting with Iron Man to get to.


	5. |CHAPTER FIVE|

“The man on the bridge. Who was he?”

He wasn’t big. He was tiny. The Asset knows someone else that’s tiny. Words flicker through his brain, scenes flash like grenades behind his eyes. They won’t stop. God, why won’t they stop?

His cheek stings. He tastes blood. The man that slapped him, Director Alexander Pierce, is in front of him. His expression is neutral. His tone is direct, cold. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

_“Jerk.”___

_ _ _“Bucky, no!”___ _ _

_ _ _ _ ___“So far.”___ _ _ _ _ __

_ _ _ _ _ _ ___Blue eyes, unfocused, unfeeling. Familiar. “Bucky?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I knew him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Director Pierce sits down. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You’ve shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society’s at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we’re going to give it a push. But if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine, and HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Snow. A cliff. The man on the bridge, smirking. “Why would I ever do that?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“But I knew him,” the Asset whispers. He knows it’s the wrong answer. He knows, he knows that they’ll hurt him for it, but—_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _But the man on the bridge knows him, and he gave him a name._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ___Please don’t take it away.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Two words seal his fate._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Prep him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You’re—my—mission!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _His mission is beaten to a pulp. He looks so familiar, and God, the Asset doesn’t want this, but he knows that remembering brings pain, and he’s so tired of pain. So, so tired of fighting._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Then finish it,” the man from the bridge croaks, “’cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _It clicks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Steve._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Oh, God, _Steve—____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He falls. And Bucky goes after him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _His face is in the Smithsonian. His face, a short biography for the only Howling Commando that was killed in action, a memorial for Steve Roger’s best friend. Not Captain America’s. Not the big, patriotic man that America knows and loves. Steve Rogers, that kid from Brooklyn who could never back down from a fight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The names collide._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The Winter Soldier._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The Fist of HYDRA._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Buck._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The Asset._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Jay._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _HYDRA lied._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He leaves the museum, every muscle screaming to stay, to find Steve, to find a safe place. His mind—could it even be called his? It belongs to HYDRA, now, it has belonged to them ever since… fuck, ever since when? When did it stop belonging to himself?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _When did he stop being James Buchannan Barnes?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _When did he become a puppet?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _And there it is, the expectation of pain. Remembering gets you hurt. Remembering gets you reset. Listen to orders, follow them, make no mistakes, and you can go another decade without them tearing your brain apart. Right? Isn’t that how it’s always been?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _No.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _No, he was human before._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He was Bucky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Enough. Find a place to stay for the night. Get ready to run. There’ll be a fight, there’s always a fight.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Just keep running.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve Robertson is used to answering questions. She’s used to political and governmental spotlight. She knows how to handle it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She doesn’t know how to handle this, though._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Miss Robertson, were you aware that you hired HYDRA agents?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Did you get your idea for your prosthetics from the Winter Soldier, Miss Robertson?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Are you, yourself, a member of HYDRA?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“How many times did you see the Winter Soldier?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The questions won’t stop._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Her dad called and told Eve not to visit. Her mom said she loved her, but that Eve needs to listen to her father. The government, after extensive research, charged her with accessory to murder, but it was revoked after a testament from Tony Stark, who hired her as a technician._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Robertson’s Reanimation tumbled. Mr. Stark assured Eve that, even with targets on her back, she’d be safe in his employment. A woman from SHIELD is apparently his secretary or something now, so she supposes he’s taking in every straggler he can._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Mr. Stark buys her a little house in Amsterdam. Tells her to take a few months to relax and get herself together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Three months in and Mr. Stark ends up telling her to stay. He’ll call and ask for blueprints and ideas for his suits. He doesn’t need her, really, but Eve appreciates his way of keeping Captain Rogers off her back. He’s been hounding her for information on Jay—on _Bucky_ since her charges were dropped.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Amsterdam is nice. It’s still in New York, so Mr. Stark just has to wave a red flag to get her attention. Everything starts calming down. Eve actually finds herself enjoying what she can only call premature retirement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Up until the vase knocks over at 3:27 in the morning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She grabs the gun from her nightstand. She bought it after her trip to Capitol Hill, just in case rogue HYDRA agents or vengeful people in general came after her. Mr. Stark insisted she have one of his prototypes, too, so a hit from it means certain death._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She knows she could never pull the trigger. She inches out of her room, gun aloft, anyways._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The lights are off. There’s one shape, and she knows who it is immediately. Not because of any physical attribute, but because of what he holds in his hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _It’s a journal._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She lowers the gun, heart racing. “Are you going to strangle me this time?” she asks hesitantly. It’s a low blow, seeing as he was brainwashed, but she can still feel his fingers around her throat if she thinks hard enough. It doesn’t matter that the next times he’d showed up he’d never touched her. The fear is still there._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“No,” James Buchannan Barnes says quietly. “I don’t do that anymore.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve sets the weapon down. She starts tearing at the barely-healed skin of her thumb._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I promised I’d try crepes last time, right?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	6. |CHAPTER SIX|

The crepes turn out horrible. Eve trashes them and cooks up pancakes, instead. Jay—_Bucky_ sits in silence, watching her move around without expression. Eve doesn’t try for conversation. She struggles to put her thoughts together at all.__

_ _He’d showed up twelve times in total when he was the Winter Soldier. On and off for four years. Every time, she’d make breakfast. Every time, he’d stay for one night and leave the next day. She never understood why he came back. She just knew that he did._ _

_ _Jay had grown on her. His little visits were surprisingly welcome, especially after she learned he didn’t remember her fully each time he came back. She kept the journals, just in case. She learned what to avoid saying and doing when he was there. Eve even recognized a bit of sentimentality in him; he would change into her brother’s clothes before they ate._ _

_ _Eve supposes she could get answers, now, as to why he kept coming back._ _

_ _“How much of me do you remember?” Eve asks, sliding a stack of pancakes over. Better to be straight and to the point rather than beat around the bush._ _

_ _“You stopped me from shooting a cat.” He pokes the pancakes with his fork. He doesn’t look at her. “You fixed my arm. I hurt you. You… you talked about stars.”_ _

_ _She leans against the cabinets, elbows propped on counter. “You found the journals. I hid them in the vase so no one would, and it’s not easy to get into. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”_ _

_ _It’s more fact than question. Bucky nods. Instead of the neutral expression she was accustomed to for so many years, there’s hesitance. Something unsure, a little scared. It’s a deer in headlights look. She hit a deer once._ _

_ _ _Off topic, Eve, stay focused and in the present.___ _ _

_ _ _ _“I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Why come to me? Why not Mr. Rogers?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“The Winter Soldier trusts you.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Eve furrows her eyebrows. She stays quiet and thinks on what that could mean. The Winter Soldier trusts her. Why? It doesn’t make sense. The Soldier was programmed to trust HYDRA, no one else._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _But you were HYDRA, remember?_ that stupid internal voice murmurs. _You were their marionette doll from the moment the Winter Soldier let you live._____ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve runs a hand over her hair. She’d gotten rid of the braids a few months before the whole HYDRA-is-SHIELD thing and traded it in for growing out her natural hair. It’s a lot to take care of, but it gives her something to do. Besides, her curls are glamorous._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Again, focus.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Does the Winter Soldier like my pancakes?” she says, half-heartedly trying to joke. Bucky just sits there. “Okay, the Winter Soldier trusts me, but I’m not really equipped to help very much this time around. The most I can offer is food and a place to lay low, though I’m fairly certain that I’m under surveillance in case people try to kill me dead.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky shovels the pancakes into his mouth. He tries to talk through the mouthful, but Eve looks at him sharply, and he finishes swallowing. “No one’s watching you anymore. They stopped last month.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Oh, good to know. Now I can harbor a wanted ex-assassin in my house.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve starts on the dishes. The soap stings her hands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _There a brief silence before she hears Bucky stand up and walk over. She doesn’t tense; that stopped a while back. She’s more concerned about the rust tinging the panels of his arm. He’d taken his coat off to eat, but she hadn’t payed attention to his arm until now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Another touch up, then,” she mutters. “Do you purposefully let your arm rust like this so I can fix it?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“No.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She huffs a laugh. “I’ve got loads of questions, you know, but I won’t hound you. I just need to know the basics, like if you have nightmares, and if you scream in your sleep.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I don’t scream,” he says quietly, “but I have nightmares.” Then, as an afterthought, “I won’t hurt you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Not what I’m worried about. I get banged up all the time.” Eve hoists herself onto the countertop. She’s eye-level with him now. She smiles kindly, hoping to soothe the obvious discomfort in his expression. “My dad would get nightmares when he was discharged. Mom was usually out, and Adam—my brother—was a heavy sleeper. I calmed him down. I’m more worried about what the neighbors would do if they heard late night or early morning screaming.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve’s brain is going a thousand miles per hour. Different ideas and ways to get his memory back are the main thoughts, but there are others. She bites her lip before she can start rambling out loud. It’s become a quirk of hers, and now that Bucky’s here, she can’t seem like she’s more off her rocker than him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She forces words to be slow and calm and quiet. “Go get a shower, clean yourself up a little. I’ll make a bed on the couch for you later today and we’ll start ironing out a course of action tomorrow. Just settle in. I’ll give your arm a touch up in a bit.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He slips into the bathroom. Eve cleans up the glass from the ground and starts tidying up the place._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _A little thought comes to her as she’s setting the journals into the upper cabinet with the plates and bowls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _A little thought. A big plan. A gigantic risk._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Hell yeah, she’s doing it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Coding has never been her forte, but she’s better than average. Add patience to her slightly good hacking skills and HYDRA’s files that the Black Widow spilled are open to her every whim._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Her fingers itch just thinking about it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Either that, or the healing scabs are just being pains in her neck. Or hands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She hears Bucky drop something in the bathroom, followed by very angry Russian swearing. Eve hides her smile behind her hand, even though he isn’t in the room. That happens nearly every time she gets a shower. The soap never stays in its designated place, especially once the water starts running._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Ah, well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He comes out a few minutes later with a towel around his waist. Eve frowns._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Why aren’t you dressed?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You don’t have clothes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Shit. She forgot that she donated her brother’s clothes. There’s no way she’s offering her clothes, either. He couldn’t fit into anything of hers if he tried, and she won’t let him, no matter how amusing the outcome might look._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Alright, to the store for me. I’ll be back in an hour. Just put your dirty stuff—”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He stalks forward. It’s very intimidating. Even knowing that he won’t hurt her, Eve flinches in expectation of pain. Bucky grabs her wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. He sets the gun in her palm and walks away without a word._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve clears her throat. “Right. Protection. I’ll be back.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She still hasn’t bought a vehicle. Mr. Stark tried to convince her to. Eve applauded him for the effort. She prefers her bicycles; it’s eco-friendly and helps her exercise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The gun weighs heavily in the waistband of her jeans. She doesn’t let it show how much it bothers her. She buys whatever she can think of and guesses his size. Jeans, t-shirts—no, he wouldn’t wear T-shirts—long sleeved shirts, gloves, shoes, belts. She decides it’s enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The cashier of the thrift shop raises his eyebrows. She’s here often enough that he’s bound to be suspicious._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Boyfriend?” he asks slyly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve rolls her eyes. “No, Chris, I’m still single.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“These don’t fit you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Obviously, they’re mens’ clothes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Any chance I could fill them out for you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve bites back a laugh. Every time. “No, Chris. I’m buying these—”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“For you boyfriend?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“For my dad,” she corrects, gathering the bags. “See you later.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Sure thing, Eve.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She bikes back home._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _This won’t be as easy as she thought it would be._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky is sitting on the couch when she walks in. He looks over, tensing briefly, but he relaxes when he sees that it’s Eve. Who else would it be?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She sets the bag down. “Got everything. There’s a few pairs of boxers in the bottom drawer in my room, they should work.” At his confused, slightly alarmed look, Eve sighs. “I wear boxers as shorts. They’re comfy to sleep in.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Why not just get pajamas?” he asks, frowning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“It’s just preference. Actually, I should throw those in the wash with your other stuff. I love thrift stores but they aren’t the cleanest, seeing as everything is donated.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve dumps everything into the washing machine. Before she pours the fabric cleaner in, she waves Bucky over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“C’mere, you should learn this. Unless you already know how?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He walks over. Eve shows him how to work the machine. He catches on quickly, thankfully. Otherwise she’d be buying new washing machines every other week._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She starts making a pot of coffee. _To feed the addiction is to live,_ she thinks as she watches the holy liquid brew. She makes a cup of hot cocoa for Bucky; he tried it during one of his visits and got hooked immediately. She gave up, eventually, and used a gallon of milk and an entire container of the mix to satisfy him. She won’t be doing that again.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He takes the mug. Eve sits on the opposite end of the couch. She breaks the silence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“After Mr. Stark hired me, I got bored. There wasn’t much to do, so I started learning different languages. I’ve added Russian, German, and Albanian to my list of languages. Oh, and English. Obviously. I’m in the middle of French, though, and it’s the hardest so far. I put the journals in the upper cabinet where the plates and bowls are, in case you’re wondering. Apparently, the vase was obvious.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Sorry for breaking it.” Bucky pauses. “And for stalking you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _It’s not the worst you’ve done._ “No biggie. When was the last time you shaved?” He shrugs. “Next grocery trip, I’ll buy some. I don’t use scented stuff, so you’ll be fine with the shaving cream I have—”__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Why did you lie?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve blinks at him owlishly. “What?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You lied,” he repeats. “You said you taught yourself to cook, but you also said your Grandma taught you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She flops her head back with a groan. “I thought I did something bad. Grandma taught me how to make pancakes, but then her dementia worsened and she died. I taught myself the rest. I owe my pancake skills to her and I’ll never forget how angry she got when I started eating the batter.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He nods, like she’s given him some sort of sacred knowledge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve grabs her laptop. “Speaking of batter, I need to know what the hell I’m doing wrong with crepes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Apparently, Eve makes the batter too thick and leaves it on the pan for too short of a time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She decides that crepes are overrated._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky gets up and changes the laundry over. Eve watches with a smile as he stares at the dials._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Twist it to the number forty,” she advises. “Then push the ‘on’ button.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The dryer starts to life. He jumps at the first clank of a zipper against the inside. Eve’s smile falls immediately. Loud, sudden noises put him on edge. She learned that one quickly. But laundry has to be done, so she doesn’t comment on his reaction or cut the machine off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“C’mere, I—is that my bathrobe?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Got tired of holding the towel,” he mumbles. Eve’s face contorts strangely as she tries to hold in her laughter; the robe was a ‘I’m-Sorry-I-Lied-About-Being-A-Nurse’ gift from Sharon. It’s wolf-themed and should never be worn in summer, due to the massive amount of fluff it contains._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve finally composes herself. “Suits you better than me. I was gonna fix up the rusted plates on your arm now, if you wanted.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He sits. As Eve works, she talks about one of her favorite subjects. Mythology. Norse in particular has caught her eye, seeing as Thor and Loki exist in real life, so she excitedly recounts some of the tales. Bucky alternates between no eye contact and unblinking eye contact. Eve is used to the stare downs; HYDRA liked eye contact, so she learned, and it had become second nature for the Winter Soldier to look people in the eye. Bucky, however, seems more reserved, and Eve can’t say she blames him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“—and because Loki was a trick-ass liar, they sewed his mouth shut. I thought that was uncalled for, cutting Sif’s hair off or no, but after he tried to take over the world, I’m less sympathetic.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky wiggles his fingers. The almost-silent whir of the machinery is a nice background noise in Eve’s opinion. From the cold way he looks at his appendage, however, she knows he feels differently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“There was this other tale that I’m skeptical about. Loki messes up again and ends up getting knocked up by a horse, and he gives birth to another horse, but that one had eight legs. I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but some pretty crazy shit’s been popping up, so I guess it could be real. What do you think?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He shrugs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I agree completely,” Eve teases, tapping his wrist with a screwdriver she found between the couch cushions. She lost it when she first moved in two months ago. “I might have been played by HYDRA, but I’m not one of them. I let a fly build his empire in my bedroom because I couldn’t stand the thought of smacking him dead. You can state your opinion, even if I don’t agree with it, and I won’t so much as roll my eyes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Dunno what to think,” he says quietly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The dryer goes off. Eve hauls herself over and starts folding the clothes, despite the fact that Bucky will be changing into them soon. Covered up or not, the man needs real clothes on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She hands him a stack. “Put ‘em on in the bathroom. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sound good to you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky nods and disappears. Eve starts on the food._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _God, she loves food. She just needs to remember to eat at least three meals a day, otherwise her hypoglycemia will come and shove its greasy hands down her throat. Drinking coffee like its water probably doesn’t help, either, come to think of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky stands in the doorway, looking highly uncomfortable. The clothes are way too big, even for him, and the belt is yanked to the tightest possible setting. Eve grimaces._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Yeah, next time I’m giving you money.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He nods stiffly. She apologizes multiple times over lunch. Bucky finally tells her to stop, which she does immediately._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Do you remember any foods you liked?” she asks. Her thumb is pretty mangled, so she’s moved onto her pointer finger. “Spaghetti, meatloaf, stroganoff?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I think I used to like hot dogs.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve cracks a smile. “You’re from Brooklyn, right?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He nods._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Then you definitely like hot dogs. I’ll cook ‘em up for dinner—does baked beans sound good for a side?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Yeah.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Cool.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You said the journals were in a cabinet, right?” he asks hesitantly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She grabs it for him. As she hands them over, she tells him, “Keep them with you. There’s an old bag somewhere you can have; I never use it and it’s maybe two years away from being trash.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Thank you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve isn’t used to hearing this man talk so much. He definitely didn’t use that sort of quiet, gentle, unsure tone. He was always cold and direct, mechanical. Hearing him thank her jars her out of the mindless action of ripping her fingers apart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You’re welcome, Bucky.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You called me Jay.” He looks off somewhere to her left. “The man on the bridge called me Bucky. The museum did, too.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“What do you want me to call you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He meets her eyes. His expression is unfocused, and when he opens his mouth to talk, no words fall out. Eve tries again: “Would you rather be called Jay or Bucky?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I don’t know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She clenches her jaw. He sounds so vulnerable. Eve feels her anger worm its way from her mind to her body—her hands fist, her muscles tighten like coiled spring._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Be gentle,_ the small voice reminds.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Be kind.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“I’ll call you Jay for now.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He fidgets with the journals. “Can I borrow a pencil?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve points them out for him. As he settles down on the couch, she decides to leave him be for a bit. He should write some, try and gather himself, get used to the place. She has to finish a bit of design changes to a replica of Thor’s hammer for Tony to play with._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _The afternoon fades by pretty quickly. Eve cooks up dinner and makes sure that Jay eats enough. He spoons more beans onto her plate, to her amusement, which she eats without protest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _After finding out that the Winter Soldier was Steve Roger’s old war buddy, she did some research. Before the serum, Steve was tiny and sickly. Eve wonders if he used to give Steve extra food. Probably, considering how naturally the action comes to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He goes back to the couch. Eve messily makes up a bed on the couch, washes the dishes, and heads to bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She sleeps sporadically. Her dreams twist and expand like a kaleidoscope._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _On the couch, Bucky Barnes stares at a journal filled cover to cover with random bits of knowledge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He thumbs through the pages. There’s a furrow in his brow; canyons etch into his forehead. Some of the facts are so obscure that he doubts even the most devoted of scholars would know it. Most are about the galaxy or mythology or machinery, but there’s other stuff, too. Definitions of words, psychological tidbits, astrophysics. Everything from cooking to murder is in this book, basically._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Bucky has to squint to read the messy writing. The letters vary in size and shape, and the cursive looks more like chicken scratch than it does anything else. Her mind moves faster than her hands, and it shows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _A good portion of the other journal was written in. Eve had obviously tried to keep her handwriting cleaner; there’s even spaces, less missing letters. He skimmed through that one earlier, while Eve cussed at the hotdogs after she burnt her hand on the skillet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _In the years that he popped up in her apartment, she kept note of the visits for him. There are twelve entries in total, and for Bucky, they all blur together. He doesn’t even remember going to her that many times. He’s read and re-read the first page several times already, but he hasn’t really read the entries._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ **Jay,**  
**This is for you. I noticed you never remembered your last visits, which means this isn’t your average case of amnesia, so I wanted to help other than just offering a journal. If the person reading this isn’t Jay, please put this down. You wouldn't want someone rifling through your inner thoughts, would you?**  
**Eve************** _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There’s not much lamplight. Bucky starts reading, anyways. 


	7. -ENTRY ONE-

**So, Jay, your first appearance was pretty unexpected. I’d met you on a Monday, near Arlington Cemetery. You looked exhausted and a bit sketchy, but I’ve never been one to walk away when I see I might be able to help, so I walked up to you.**  
**God, I was so nervous. I knew you were staring at me, probably wondering what the hell I was doing, but I kept on rambling. I can’t remember what about, exactly, but I know it had to do with the stars. When I left, I was pretty sure I’d never see you again, but then you showed up on Saturday. I knew something was shady about you from the start. I didn’t think that ‘shady’ thing would be murder, but that’s what it turned out to be.******  
**I guess you followed me back to my apartment. All I know is that I was talking to my mom over the phone, only to look over and see you standing at my window. I questioned my sanity the entire time I walked you to the bathroom. When you grabbed my wrist and slammed me against the wall, I figured I wouldn’t live through the night, but you proved me wrong.****  
**We ate chicken and dumplings that night. In the morning, you met Goose. I thought she was a cat, and I still have no clue as to what she is, and you tried to shoot her. Then my neighbor ran over. I thought for sure you’d be discovered, but you weren’t, and let me tell you that I was very grateful for that.  
**Anyways, you left pretty soon after. I figured that was the last I’d see of you. I was wrong. At first, I wasn’t glad that I was, but now I am. You grew on me pretty quick, Jay. It’s surprising and weird but I can’t say I’d go back in time to change meeting you. I hope you get to read these one day. I hope you remember.**** ******


	8. |CHAPTER SEVEN|

Bucky doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t want to close his eyes. He can never tell if his dreams are his mind’s own creativity come to torture him or if they’re memories. All he knows for certain is that he doesn’t want to fall into them again.

He sits at the window and peers through blinds. He can make out vague traces of the constellations Eve likes so much. She can identify them. Bucky has no clue if he’s looking at planets or stars, but it does look pretty.

He lied to Eve. He feels bad about it. Guilty, even. It weighs on his chest and in his throat, like someone poured molten steel into his mouth. It burns and then it sets like stone. He doesn’t like feeling guilty. As the Winter Soldier, he never did feel guilty. It was for the greater good when he would murder and maim, or at least it was to his knowledge. Why feel guilty at bettering the future? Why fight when it only hurts him? Why remember when they’ll take it away?

There’s not an exact date in his mind for when he gave up. He knows he struggled to stay himself for a long time, though, and that HYDRA was more patient than James Barnes could ever be.

The fading stars stubbornly remain in the sky as it edges towards dawn. Bucky catches a glimpse of his reflection and turns his face. It doesn’t feel like him, doesn’t look like him. It looks like the dead Howling Commando, or like the Winter Soldier, but he’s neither of them anymore.

He wonders if he could still be called a person.

As if hearing his self-decrepitating thoughts, Eve trudges out of her room and heads straight for the coffee machine. She doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s obviously been awake the entire night. He watches as she grabs a mug and fills it with milk.

“Is that what you made last night?” he asks quietly. At her tired smile, he almost smiles, himself. Almost.

“It’s called hot chocolate,” she informs. Her voice is croaky. “Good to know you still like it, though.”

“I’ve had it before?”

“Yep. I ended up just making an entire gallon full for you, but I won’t be doing that again.”

He doesn’t remember that. It sounds like it should be familiar. He sips his drink. She downs half the pot of coffee before setting it down.

“I said yesterday was for relaxing and today is the game plan. I’m laying it straight for you, Jay, my main goal is to help you remember.” She leans against the counter. The boxers are too big for her. “I thought of a way to do that. See, Mr. Stark gets me to do more programming than building, and seeing as he’s a mechanic that made a super suit in a cave, he technically doesn’t need me. That gives me lots of free time. I’ve gotten better at coding, and I think with some patience I could decipher HYDRA’s leaked files.”

Bucky pauses with the mug halfway to his mouth. Seeing his shock, Eve grins.

“It’ll take time and I don’t doubt that government agencies have been scrambling to figure it out themselves, which means any attempt to breach the coding will flag me. But I know a friend who can help me. He’s… well, he’s a special guy.”

“No one can know about me,” he says quickly, harshly.

To her credit, Eve doesn’t so much as flinch. Her tone stays calm. “You said the Winter Soldier trusts me, right?”

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“That’s not exactly true.”

Bucky sets the mug down before it shatters in his grip. There’s a dull pain behind his eyes. Eve softens her voice. Unwillingly, he finds himself relaxing.

“The Winter Soldier is essentially the personification of your suppressed personality. Sergeant Barnes is that same personality, before you went to hell and crawled back out. What HYDRA did to you makes you a victim, and victims are survivors. No survivor survives without pieces of themselves missing. You just have to figure out who you are, and I’ll stay next to you as long as you want me to.”

The guilt presses down.

The words are at the tip of his tongue: _I told them about you. I’m the reason you’ve lost so much.___

_ _He doesn’t say them._ _

_ _Eve starts making another pot of coffee._ _

_ _“So, that’s one option. The other is I check out as many books on national history as the library lets me—paper trails are harder to follow, even if what you check out and return is monitored—and you read over it the good ol’ fashioned way. There’s also cognitive recalibration and activities that might jog your memory some. Writing down what you remember will be the first step. Anyways, that’s the overview of my thought process. Anything on your end, Jay?”_ _

_ _She makes steady eye contact with him, just like HYDRA would, but instead of tensing at it, he feels a little calmer. A little less on edge._ _

_ _“I dunno,” he says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows and frowning. “I… I read about myself in a museum. The man on the bridge, Steve—he was there too.”_ _

_ _“Learn anything?”_ _

_ _“I was in the army.”_ _

_ _Little bits of that float to the top of his oceanic mind. He remembers gunfire and trenches and burnt shoes on the roadside, children’s shoes guessing by the size. Being a soldier is the clearest thing that’s surfaced so far._ _

_ _“I had a sister…” She is barely in his memories. “…and I was presumed dead after I fell from—when I fell from the—”_ _

_ _ _“Bucky, no!”_ _ _

_ _ _Falling, falling, landing—_ _ _

_ _ _Blood and pain and ice._ _ _

_ _ _“Грузовой вагон.”___ _ _

_ _ _ _“Jay?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _Грузовой вагон._ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _Freight car._ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _Грузовой вагон._ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _Грузовой вагон—___ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _God,_ he can’t _breathe—_____ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Jay—”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Something shatters. Debris flies. His head splits in half._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Jay, look at me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Something touches his hand. He’s about to jerk back or lash out when it rests lightly on his wrist. Taking his pulse._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Listen. Can you hear me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Yes. The word doesn’t come out; he can’t talk. His tongue feels heavier than lead. His breath catches halfway to his lungs. The panic increases—he can’t breathe right, something’s wrong—_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Listen to me. Breathe in deeply.” His fingers touch something soft. It rises and falls under his touch. “Feel that? That’s me breathing. Breathe with me, like this.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Deep breathe in. Hold it. Let it out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Over and over again, until the haze clears enough from his mind that Bucky can recognize where he is. Eve is kneeling in front of him. They’re on the floor. There’s a broken mug on the ground. Hot chocolate is splattered on the wood. Eve seems smaller than usual for some reason._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He retracts his hand. A bit of the panic returns, and Eve is quick to assure him, despite Bucky not having voiced the reason for the renewed anxiety._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You didn’t hurt me, Jay, I promise. See?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She holds up her hands. No bruises. Her thumb and pointer finger look like they were put in a blender. He doesn’t like that she tears her skin off. She needs to stop doing that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve has dark eyes. He can see his reflection in them. It’s distorted, and Bucky can’t tell the exact point where iris ends and pupil begins, but it gives him a strange sense of calm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Go and rinse your face with some cold water.” It’s more command than advice, but the gentle tones she uses make it seem like the latter. “I’ll clean this up. We won’t talk about anything else related to that today.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Okay,” he says hoarsely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve starts gathering up the glass in her palm. Bucky slinks off to the bathroom._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _God, her heart still is racing. She did a good job of seeming calm, but she was panicking, too. Eve knew that he was slipping the moment he talked about his ‘death’. It’s a grim thought, but he did die that day. James Barnes did, at least._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _At least now she knows what it looks like when he’s slipping._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She hates how unfocused and ghost-like he gets. Her dad would look the same way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve dumps the glass into the trash and starts throwing towels on the floor. Water runs in the bathroom. She tosses the towels in the washer. Jay walks out, the ends of his hair dripping water._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She has something for that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve grabs a hair tie from the doorknob of the bathroom. She holds it up and asks, “Mind if I help?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He stays very still as she pulls his hair back. She can tell that he’s uncomfortable and works quickly because of this. The ponytail looks pretty good on him, actually. Not bad enough for Eve to want to take the hair tie back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“And now you can see,” she says, smiling at the blank look he gives her. She can almost hear him telling her that he could see before. “I think I need another pot—”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“That’s three.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She raises her eyebrows at the accusing tone he’d taken on. “Yeah.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“You need water.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“Coffee is made with water. Therefore, I am sustained.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He glares at her. It’s very menacing. Eve holds her ground, though. Up until he actually pours her a glass of water and holds it out, glowering like she just insulted him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She’s taken back to the abrupt instances like this. There was less talking, more one-word sentences, but the message was the same. Actions speak louder than words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Eve sighs and takes the glass. She chugs the entire thing, wrinkling her nose at the taste. Water is so weird. It takes one way when its cold and another when its warm, but ice tastes entirely different than either. This is why she prefers coffee, among other reasons—you always know what taste you’ll get. Bitter liquid gold is better than water cold._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Satisfied with his victory, Jay sits down on the couch and opens up the journal. Which one, Eve can’t tell. She just grabs her laptop and renews her library card. She’ll be needing it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She knows so much. So many useless, cool facts. Things so obscure that Sharon would ask if she was sure the fact was even proved. But in school, history was her worst subject. All that knowledge of presidents and wars? It went right out her head as soon as she left high school._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Don’t get Eve wrong, she knows the basics. Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth president. Captain America helped fight in World War Two. Remedial knowledge in history and language arts, extensive knowledge in basically everything else._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _It used to make her parents so mad._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She wonders how they’re doing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Best not to dwell on that.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She starts requesting books until the limit of twenty-five is reached. A bit of light reading should help Jay’s mind piece stuff together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	9. |CHAPTER EIGHT|

Bucky didn’t want Eve to leave the apartment again.

He didn’t lie when he said that the surveillance was taken off of her a few months ago, but that doesn’t mean that it’s safe for her to be out there alone. If someone recognizes her, if they just see her as an opportunity—

She so small. She isn’t safe.

He shouldn’t care.

Bucky paces the apartment. She said she’d be back in two hours. Said she’d buy some groceries and stop by the library. Two hours.

It’s been thirty-seven minutes.

He’s going to lose his damn mind—if he hasn’t already, that is. That little episode earlier that morning makes him wonder about that.

Pacing only makes his agitation worse. Bucky looks around the apartment for something, anything, to distract him. There are books on languages he’s already learned. There are all sorts of mechanical supplies laying about in the oddest of places. She has a lot of stuff in her recipe book, but he can’t decipher her handwriting to figure out what it says.

Then he finds something to occupy him.

Her laptop.

It’s unlocked, surprisingly, and open to a tab for the closest library. He scrolls through her requested list.

It’s all on major historical and political events. There’s one odd book, though, that doesn’t match the rest. It’s a self-help book.

Bucky frowns. She’s getting these books to help him. He doesn’t know why she’s been so kind. He knows why he came back, why the Winter Soldier trusts her, but he has no clue as to why Eve lets him back in. She doesn’t complain. It’s scary how easily she handles him, though, and he isn’t sure if he should take the media’s version of her life as gospel or not.

He shouldn’t. He looks her up, anyways. A distraction is a distraction.

The most recent headlines are about her court trial and exemption, with a mix of gossip (‘Eve Robertson—Mechanical Genius or Devious Criminal?’) and reports of her failed business, which would have flourished even further if not for HYDRA’s involvement. Then there’s the older bits. The ones about her business in its earlier days, when it was the first company to give the newest in prosthetics and orthotics to those that need it most.

She did some very good things.

She had everything to gain from her future.

He told HYDRA about her, and she lost it all.

The front door clicks open. Bucky hurriedly shuts the laptop and stands up; he looks Eve over quickly, his posture relaxing upon finding her unharmed. Skinny and tired, but unharmed.

She sets the groceries on the floor. He frowns after counting the bags. Thirteen. She carried thirteen bags in one trip. She looks like she’d struggle to carry a gallon of milk from the fridge to the counter.

“I don’t like making more than one trip,” she says off-handedly. She starts hauling her purchases to the right places. She sounds out of breath. “Bought better shirts and some sweat pants. Try ‘em on, will you?”

Bucky takes the bag. He hears Eve sigh, maybe in defeat, when he pulls off his shirt.

“HYDRA didn’t teach you that you can change without someone else in the room, did they?” he hears her mumble.

No, they didn’t.

“Hey?” she says, this time addressing him. He stiffens at the tense, unsure notes in Eve’s voice. “Why is there a gun on the counter?”

He looks at the counter. Sure enough, his only weapon—he got rid of everything else after pulling Steve from the river—rests right on the counter. Bucky hesitates. He could tell her that it’s in case he needs to get it, but if that was the reason, it’d be hidden somewhere on him. He could tell her the truth—that it’s there in case he becomes unstable, in case he needs to be put down. HYDRA ingrained that particular habit into him early on. Just in case.

Bucky is honestly surprised Eve hadn’t noticed the gun earlier. It’s been there since yesterday. Well, there and on the table. He figured handing Eve a gun wouldn’t be the best of ideas. He’s seen how she handles the one she has.

“Jay?”

It’s in her hands, now, and there’s something uncertain and gentle in the way she says her name for him. Bucky swallows the lie and tells the truth. It’s hard to say it.

“If I get too unstable, you need it to—”

The gun clatters to the counter. Bucky watches Eve’s reaction carefully. All five feet of her seems to shake with anger. Her small hands are clenched by her sides, even, and through the wild tangle of her hair, Bucky can see her mouth is hanging open, half-way through a word.

Eve almost looks scary.

“That’s why you do it?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. Her voice trembles. It’s always quiet, but now it seems weak, terrified.

She pushes her hair out of her face and exhales slowly. “I asked the second time I saw you, but you didn’t answer. I figured it was some sort of intimidation thing, and you got all glare-y—well, more than usual—so I shut up about it. I—shit, Jay, that’s horrifying.”

He remembers Pierce in the kitchen, telling him that he had two targets. Shooting his maid when she walked back in, no hesitation or remorse, and Bucky is taken aback by how he sees the Winter Soldier in Pierce’s cold mannerisms.

The Winter Soldier cared about very few things. Himself, his missions, HYDRA, and most strangely of all, Eve.

But Pierce? He was the embodiment of what Bucky was supposed to become. Completely devoted to HYDRA. Unflinching in his work—which he was. God, he was, and he hates seeing the people he’s killed at night.

Eve gathers herself again. Usually, she’ll force a smile. She might make a dumb joke in the useless hope that Bucky might laugh. Hell, she would bend over backwards to help someone. She doesn’t this time. No, Eve just walks over the coffee machine and starts it up.

That makes three.

He doesn’t tell her to drink water. The mood today has been the same. Grim, tense. Bucky lets Eve finish putting the groceries away in peace. He tries on the rest of the clothes. 

She got his size right this time. She got him a toothbrush and a small laundry basket.

Bucky retreats to the living room and takes up his post by the window again. He hears her start cooking dinner. He opens up the journal.


	10. -ENTRY TWO-

**Like I said, I thought that was the last of you. And it was, for over a year. A lot happened. I started a business, Sharon became my friend, Mr. Stark is a sponsor for my company, and I made it through my first round of holidays without Adam, my brother. It was hard, but we did it. My family, that is. We made it.  
Then you showed up. I still have no idea how you got into my apartment, but you did, and you scared the absolute shit out of me. I was in the shower and I walk out to see you standing there like some sort of apparition, and you didn’t say a word. I honestly had no idea what to do. I mean, I offered breakfast last time, but I didn’t really think you’d come back.  
I made omelets. Just in case you were wondering.  
You set a gun on the counter while I started cracking the eggs. Scared me again when you did it, too. You walk and move like a ghost. Dead quiet. I didn’t realize there was a loaded weapon behind me until I put the plate in front of you. Asked you about it, too, but you just got really distant. Then you glared at me, like you wanted to pick the gun up and bash my head in with it. I left it be after that.  
Keep in mind that I had no idea what to do. It’s very important. Otherwise, you’d judge me for putting on the original version of The Wizard of Oz.  
I don’t think you payed attention. When it was done, I offered the journals. Jay, vocalization is something that is required. Deciphering the different types of glares is pretty much impossible. I guess you’d had enough of conversation, despite not having said a single word the entire time, because you pulled out a knife and started cleaning the blood off of it.  
I guess I passed out. I don’t remember. I was exhausted, in and out of meetings all day, and you broke my coffee pot after the fourth one I drank in front of you. I remember that very clearly, because Sharon texted and asked me why I’m so clumsy. She never did mention the bruises, oddly enough. Probably wanted to give me some space. That sort of question tends to be pretty personal.  
Anyways, I passed out and woke up with you gone. You were nice enough to turn off the TV, though, so thank you for that. I really do hope you end up reading this, Jay. I really do.******


	11. |CHAPTER NINE|

Eve aggressively makes her favorite meal. She never knew it was possible to make mashed potatoes and pork chops angrily, but it turns out that it’s possible.

Jay sits over in his corner, the journal propped on his knee. She tries not to stare. How can you not, though? He just admitted that he was trained—trained, like a fucking dog—to supply HYDRA with a weapon to kill him with.

She turns the pork chops over. Grease splashes her hand. She curses. Not so much at the pain, seeing as the nerves in her hands are pretty messed up. No, she curses because today keeps getting better and better. How the hell did she does this before? How did she handle an assassin, complete brainwashed of everything that gave him identify? How did she let him leave all those times?

_You let him get hurt.___

_ __ _

Eve runs cold water over her hand. It’s already starting to blister.

_ __ _

_Much help you were, right?___

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

The skin pulls as she dries her hands. The pork chops sizzle their laughter.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

_Shut the hell up_, she tells herself darkly. _You did what you could._____

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Even if it wasn’t enough.___

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She pinches the bridge of her nose.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Focus on the dinner, Eve_.__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Two plates. Adam had joked that she had the taste of a grandmother when she picked them out. Eve doesn’t see the problem. They’re white ceramic with a ring of dark blue swirls around the edges. Her entire set of plates and bowls match. It was on sale a thrift shop—how could she say no?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve slides the pork chops onto the plates and gives each a solid helping of mashed potatoes. Not the instant kind, either. Eve doesn’t like them. They taste like failure and disappointment. No, these are the real deal.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Ready to eat, Jay?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He immediately heads over to the couch. Eve opens up the laptop and starts a free trial on Netflix. If the thirty days expire and she’s satisfied with the outcome, she may just buy it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve scrolls through the movies, looking for something old. Well, older. And what is better than the classic Pinocchio?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So many things.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve hates these sorts of films. Disney has never been her forte. Adam loved it, maybe because its annoyed Eve, maybe because he genuinely enjoyed it. But it came out in the forties, and Bucky Barnes might have watched it. Hopefully. Otherwise, Eve just sat through one hour twenty-eight minutes of her childhood’s worst moments for nothing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

While watching it, Jay seemed to straight right past the screen. Eve couldn’t tell if he was locked in a memory, zoned out, or asleep with his eyes open. She just picks up his empty plate and starts on the dishes. She hears it end, too, but there’s no noise to alert her that Jay has stood up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Ghost-like_, she thinks right after she catches his reflection in the cabinet’s glass. _Very ghost-like._____

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Think you’ll sleep tonight?” she asks. He shakes his head. Eve smiles. His answer isn’t the cause, but the ponytail she gave him is clinging on for dear life. It’s barely on anymore. Why hasn’t he taken it out? “Thought so. Follow the directions on the hot chocolate if you want some. There’s a flashlight somewhere, you can use that to read. Help yourself to the pantry. I’m staying up in my room for a bit.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She turns around to talk to him directly. Her smile gets a bit gentler upon seeing the towel in his hands.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Thank you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He nods curtly and walks away.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She doesn’t blame him. Today’s been a long day.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve grabs her laptop and heads to her bedroom. The fly kingdom has begun to die off. Their reign is ending. She wonders if the original fly, Clyde, is alive. Probably not. She sweeps the bodies of the fallen into the trashcan.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Honestly, why did the empire even start? I don’t keep food or drinks in here_.__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve slouches onto the covers. The pillows close in on her, as every true bed should, and starts monitoring the keystrokes of the people attempting to hack into HYDRA’s files. She starts writing down their patterns. Then she traces them back to their original sources.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Most are government agencies. One catches her interest.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

UNKNOWN.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Someone’s on a mission just like her own. Their outcome might be different.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She starts setting up malware and firewalls. It doesn’t slow them down. They have experience, more than she has. Some sort of specialist, then.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” she whispers. They attacked her. Hacked straight through her firewalls and coding and shut down her entire laptop.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Oh, _hell_ no.__

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She slams the electronic closed and calls Mr. Stark. He answers on the first ring.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Hey, Sugar, how’s Amsterdam?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Great.” She glances at the door. “So, I was an idiot and my laptop got hacked into. I’ve got no control over here. Some documents are up in the air. If I buy a new laptop, would you give me a Stark-worthy protection system?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Sure thing. Oh, and Rogers has a friend that he’s going to send to your place. Sam Wilson, his name was. Nice guy, I’m sure, but I’d personally tell him to fuck off.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Thanks, Stark.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He groans. “Tony, Sugar, call me Tony!”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Goodnight, Tony,” Eve sing-songs.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Yeah, yeah.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

One call, done. Now to the second.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

That one goes to voice mail. She rolls her eyes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Kurt, it’s Eve. Remember that favor? I’m calling it in. I’ll make your favorite if you show up as soon as possible. And please don’t invite your friends, it’s not a group thing. Please.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Now. The final one.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve doesn’t even know if she should make it. She does, anyways.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It rings. Rings. Voice mail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Hi, Dad.” Her voice cracks. She clears her throat. “I know you don’t want to hear from me. You might not even keep the voice mail, but I hope you do. I wanted to tell you Happy Birthday. I know it’s tomorrow, but you always have a big birthday bash, and I wouldn’t get to tell you if I waited. So… I love you, Dad. Happy birthday.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She puts her face in her hands. She won’t cry. No, she won’t do that. Not over this. But she will let it hurt. Her mom always did tell her to let emotions run their course, otherwise they’ll come back to bite you at the worst of times.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Instead of naming her emotions, she does something feasible. She sits in front of the window and starts to pinpoint constellations. She lets the facts and feelings turn over in her mind like the slowly crumbling pages of a novel.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

In the other room, Bucky slips into an uneasy sleep.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve eventually does, too.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

~

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Morning comes late and it arrives without disturbance.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve lays under the covers for a moment. She checks her phone—no messages—and decides to just power it off.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

To her shock, Jay is asleep when she walks out. She doesn’t make coffee or food for that reason. The clocks read 9:29. Eve grabs the nearest book and hoists herself onto the cabinet. She regrets not paying attention to history in school. If it was bland then, it’s definitely bland now.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay starts to shift a lot. Eve watches carefully to see if she needs to intervene. His arm whirs; he must be tense, then, in addition to his tossing and turning. She can hear his breathing from the kitchen. True to his word, Jay doesn’t scream. He does groan, and that’s what spurs Eve into action.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She grabs a washcloth and soaks it in cold water. By the time she reaches Jay, the sharp edges of his metal arm have ripped through his shirt.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

His grip on the cushions doesn’t let up when Eve dabs the washcloth on his forehead. He doesn’t wake up, either. She keeps on dabbing at his face and neck until the rag turns warm. His hair is plastered to his face. Eve combs it back carefully.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Slowly, the groans diminish. Slowly, he relaxes into the cushions, breathing to a shaky rhythm.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eve rinses the cloth out and goes back to reading.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Four books go by before he wakes up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jay looks around wildly. He takes a few moments to recollect himself. Eve can tell that he thinks she’ll comment, but she only smiles and asks what he wants to drink.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He makes the hot chocolate. Eve listens to the hum of the microwave for a moment before shutting the book. It’s not like she could concentrate, anyways.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“If you feel up for it, you can head out today.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You trust me to come back?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I trust you to stay safe.”

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He takes out the hot chocolate with his metal hand. She has to smile at that; instead of waiting for the handle to cool, he just used his arm to his advantage.

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“I’ve got fifty bucks for you to spend. Go out whenever you feel like it.” He sets the gun in plain sight again. Eve pretends not to notice. “I need to go out, too, and buy a new laptop—”

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“You broke it?”

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“Not exactly.”

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Seeing that she won’t be divulging any more information, Jay nods and takes a few gulps of his beverage. Eve rests her chin on her fist, frowning in thought.

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“You’ll want a time to regroup, right?”

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Jay jerks his head. “Two hours.”

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“M’kay. Two hours and we’ll meet back here. I don’t have to give you the 'don’t talk to strangers' talk, right?”

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He doesn’t smile. _Must’ve been a bad nightmare, then.___

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Eve hops in the shower. She doesn’t curse when the soap slides off its pedestal. She does curse when she hears rapid footsteps towards the bathroom.

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“I’m fine, Jay, the soap—”

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The door opens. “Eve?”

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“I dropped the soap.” She pokes her head around the curtains. He’s standing there, on edge, and she motions to the door. “If I scream, you have permission to barge in. If I don’t, please let me shower in peace.”

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A bit of pink tinges his scruffy face. He leaves without a word. Eve finishes quicker than she had planned.

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Twenty minutes later, and they’re on their separate ways.

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~

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Bucky shops at a ratty thrift store. He keeps a hat on and his head ducked; the store is so dilapidated that he honestly doubts that a security system is installed. In fact, the cameras in the corner are props. It’s enough to deter the average criminal from a heist, and Bucky supposes that’s enough.

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The morning had been rough. First, the nightmare. It was bad. It wasn’t a memory, not exactly. It’s more like his brain took a suppressed memory and twisted its neck—or, more accurately, Steve’s. He was in a back alley in the dream, fighting some plain Joe or another despite being small as a teenage gal, and his opponent just… just killed him. One hand on either side of his neck, one sharp crack, and then Steve was on the ground.

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In the dream, he’d lurched forward, only to find that his killer was himself. Suited up and ready to be shipped out, the dream-Bucky had un-holstered his gun and pointed it straight at his own head. Dream-Bucky said something about it being ‘til the end of the line, and he’d pulled the trigger. A metal armed clawed out of his shoulder and wrapped around his throat.

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The dream faded into something else, something watery and dark and cold, before he jerked awake. Eve was sitting on the counter, her entire body tucked right by the sink like a cat might do. She was reading a book. A small stack was next to her, already combed through from one cover to the next.

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She didn’t comment. She only smiled and asked if he wanted a drink.

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Bucky made hot chocolate without saying a word. He’d been genuinely shocked when Eve had asked if he wanted to go out today. Her answer to his asking if she trusted him to come back was even more so.

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Second, the shower. The two prior events had thrown him off, set him on edge. Hearing something fall had instinctively made him run to Eve. He barely realized that the situation might not be appropriate. That only kicked in when she gestured awkwardly to the door.

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Now he’s in a thrift shop, his face still red from embarrassment. Bucky didn’t even know he could get embarrassed anymore, but Eve proved that yes, he can, and he will.

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He checks out quickly. Instead of heading straight back, Bucky walks slowly around the area. It’s familiar, seeing as he watched Eve for months before making a move, and he’s satisfied to notice that no security details or possible hostiles are posted.

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Eve walks up to her house. He frowns from a little alcove a block or so away. She left on her bicycle; where is it? She seems to be struggling under the weight of the box she’s carrying, and though Bucky wants to help, he decides against it.

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She makes it inside. Bucky surveys the perimeter before coming in—through the front door, this time.

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She’s sitting on the floor, a laptop in front of her. He throws the clothes he bought into the washing machine, remembering what Eve said about anything bought from a thrift store, and eyes the cup of water next to Eve’s leg. She must be taking his earlier recommendation seriously. Good.

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“Have fun?” she asks distractedly.

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Bucky shakes his head, but she’s focused on the electronic, so he’s forced to verbally respond. “No.”

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“Not one for shopping, then. That’s good. I hate it, too.” Eve gestures in the vague direction of the kitchen. “We’re having leftovers for lunch and dinner today, so go buck wild.”

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Silence.

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Realizing her unintentional pun, she immediately looks over, about to apologize. She stops when she sees that he’s trying not to smile. An expression crosses her face; it’s a bit of surprise and hesitant happiness, and it makes Bucky feel a bit light headed.

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Bucky schools his expression into something more neutral. He’ll question the light-headedness later. “Thank you for all this.”

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She rubs the back of her neck and huffs a laugh. “You’re welcome, Jay. After everything the world’s thrown your way, this is the least I could do.”

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_No_, he thinks. _This is the most you could do_.____

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“Anyways, I was thinking we could watch another movie tonight. Dumbo sound good to you?”

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He’d liked the movie last night. It was familiar; he thinks he watched it before, but he’s not certain. Dumbo, though, doesn’t ring a bell. He nods, anyways.

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She works on the laptop throughout lunch and after dinner. Bucky starts skimming the books she checked out from the library. Some bits make him hesitate; others he quickly skips, the memory of it too harsh to deal with at the moment. He’s terrified that he’ll start slipping. He almost did when he got to President Kennedy’s assassination. It was too familiar to be anything but a memory.

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He tells himself that it might not be him. Bucky knows he’s lying to himself.

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She stops playing with the laptop for dinner. She doesn’t talk much, but when she does, Bucky listens very carefully. To his surprise, Eve even asks him for help putting away the dishes. It feels strange, working side-by-side with such a domestic task.

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Bucky quickly understands why he was asked to help, however. He’d watched her clamber onto the counter in order to put the dishes away before; that’s a clear memory, though out of context, it would be strange for the Winter Soldier to suddenly remember. Bucky, though. Bucky falls into an easy rhythm.

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The bathroom incident is not mentioned.

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Dumbo is… well, Bucky supposes it should be sad, but it doesn’t feel sad to him. It just feels like a movie. The animation is interesting, though, and Bucky is pretty sure that he enjoyed it. Eve, however, doesn’t seem to share the same opinion.

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“You don’t like it,” he states. Eve’s head jerks up. He almost smiles at the wide-eyed look on her face. “Why’d you put it on if you don’t like it?”

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“It came out in the forties, and it seemed like it would be something a young Bucky Barnes would watch, so I thought it might help job a memory or two.” There’s a slight hopefulness in the way she rests her chin on her knees. “Did it?”

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“No.”

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There’s no disappointment that he can read from her. Not even when she smiles and puts on another movie, this one called ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.’

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This one he remembers.

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_“Это волчий паук. Вы будете тренировать его.”_

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“Вы Зимний Солдат.”

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Red hair.

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Ballerinas.

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Handcuffs and bedposts.

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“Он провалил программу, солдат. ГИДРА заберет тебя завтра.”

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Blood in the snow. Elegant dancing and bullet shells.

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“Они смотрят—”__

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“Turn it off.”

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Eve immediately clicks the exit button. Bucky’s gruff, sharp tone seems to have scared her; before he can be sure, she’s collected herself, and has moved to kneel between his legs. He looks down at her, breathing like he’s run a triathlon.

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“Where are you right now?”

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He clenches his jaw. Through his teeth, he grinds out, “Your house.”

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“Whatever set you off isn’t here. We’re both at my house, and HYDRA is gone.” She has a quiet, soft voice; Bucky fixates on that instead of the bright screen behind her. The fact hits him between the eyes—she positioned herself like this to block his view of the laptop.

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She’s done this before.

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That’s why she knows how to handle him. Its how she handled the Winter Soldier without the red book and without Karpov’s knowledge of his background.

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She talks for a few minutes about what she wants to make for lunch tomorrow. She’s stuck on grilled cheeses or on calling a place called Pizza Hut to deliver. Eve asks Bucky for his input. By now, his breathing has evened out, and he’s desperate for something.

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He doesn’t know what that something is. He just knows that he doesn’t have it. And it’s not his memories, definitely not those. He wants something else.

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The not knowing is frustrating.

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Eve sits down beside him. He glares at a point below hairline and above her eyes. From the slight tensing of her shoulders, he’s unnerving her. Bucky wants to tell her that he’s not angry at her, but the words stick in his throat. How would he explain what he’s angry at, anyways, when he doesn’t know himself?

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She hops up. Bucky hears her in the kitchen; she reappears with a glass of water in her hands. He takes it and downs the glass without hesitation. While he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, however, he realizes that it’s tattered. Had it been like that the whole day? He hopes not.

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“You should write down whatever that was,” Eve says after a moment of standing there. She’s peeling her skin again. There’s dried blood under her nails. “It’ll help you—”

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Bucky grabs her hand. She watches him with her eyebrows furrowed. He holds her hand very carefully; he’s honestly afraid that he’ll shatter the bones in her hand if he puts any amount of pressure on her. But her small hands are warm, and he feels a slight settling in the static of his mind. This is what he’d wanted. Physical contact. Not the kind that HYDRA gave him, either, but the kind like this.

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“Are you okay?” she asks.

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He decides to vocalize his answer. “Yeah.” Then, as an afterthought: “You need to stop picking your skin off.”

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Eve lets him keep a light hold on her hand. His metal one is on his lap, still and silent. Bucky frowns deeply at the scars slotted across her skin. From her fingertips to her wrist, there’s an array of different reminders. Blotchy ones, pale ones, thin ones, dark ones. All sorts of scars. He doesn’t like it.

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“I’ve tried, but then I went from my fingers to my scalp, and the alternate behaviors I tried never stuck.”

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“Alternate behaviors?”

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“Things you do to supplement a negative or harmful activity.” Eve’s gaze drops to her hand. She seems to be confused. Her tone remains factual. “I tried knitting, tearing apart erasers and cork, and stuff like that. The cork lasted the longest, but it made such a big mess that I ended up going back to where I started.”

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Bucky wonders if he was supposed to hold her hand. He lets go quickly; he made a mistake doing that, didn’t he? That’s why she’s confused. He fucked up.

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_“Language, Buck!”___

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He blinks. The voice was Steve’s, faint and weak, but he remembers him saying that. He was… sick? Yeah, he got sick a lot. That’s what the museum said.

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Eve’s voice brings him back to the present.

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“Try writing in the journal, drink some water, get a shower. Relax a bit. Tomorrow I have to meet with someone, so I’m going to sleep, but if you’re not up when I leave, I’ll write a note for you.”

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“You’re going.”

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The statement sounds flat. Eve doesn’t bat an eyelash.

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“I have to talk with Mr. Stark about a new security program for the laptop. His tech is virtually indestructible, especially with all the tweaking her does, and then I have to return a few calls.”

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Bucky nods sharply. He stalks to the bathroom, knowing full well that he won’t sleep well tonight, if he does at all.

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He showers quickly and even shaves. Without the scruff, he looks a bit more like Bucky Barnes. But the hair and the hollow expression? They belong to the Winter Soldier, and their mind is still in HYDRA’s hands.

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Eve can’t know about the words.

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_Don’t think about them_, he tells himself harshly. _Read the entries. Stand watch. Don’t let anything pass you by.___

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Don’t think about the words_._

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
Это волчий паук. Вы будете тренировать его: This is a Wolf Spider. You will train him.  
Вы Зимний Солдат: You are a Winter Soldier.  
Он провалил программу, солдат. ГИДРА заберет тебя завтра: He failed the program, Soldier. HYDRA will take you tomorrow.  
Они смотрят—: They are watching—


	12. -ENTRY THREE-

**About three months later, and you showed up again. This time, you were hurt. I’m no doctor. I can fix machinery, I can warp steel with a match if I have the time, but I have no clue how to handle an open wound. I know the basics. You, Jay, seemed to expect a surgeon-grade deal from me.  
There was a lot of blood. I can stomach that. I had no clue how to fix a bullet wound, and since you refused to give me any instruction beyond a grunt or two, I shoved tampons inside them. It worked, thankfully, but one bullet was still in you, so you made me take out a tampon, dig around, and pull it back out. I don’t know how you didn’t dream. I remember telling you that you owed me twenty bucks, because tampons are expensive. I stitched up a cut, too, using floss. It was completely disgusting and it made me realize that I could never be a doctor.  
When I puked, you watched and had the nerve to ask if I was done. I nearly smacked you one for that, you know.  
You didn’t eat. I didn’t either. We sat in the bathroom for a solid hour after you got cleaned up. You didn’t stay the night; I guess you left to find someone competent enough to keep you from bleeding out. Which I did, by the way. No man can ever say that tampons are completely useless. I could have sworn you were blushing, Jay, but it could have just been the fact that you were shot twice in the abdomen and stabbed in the leg. I’m pretty sure that assassins aren’t invincible, though, so next time don’t go throwing yourself in the crossfire like that. Do you think you’re bullet proof? The answer better be ‘no.’******


	13. -ENTRY FOUR-

**Skip forward another seven months. You weren’t hurt this time. You were actually dressed like a civilian. The first words out your mouth was, “Who are you?”  
That’s when I realized what was going on. It might be hard to hear, Jay, but whoever you work for aren’t aiming for the greater good, or for whatever lies they’ve been selling you. I don’t know how, but they suppressed your memories. That means you aren’t killing willingly. As much as I hate what you’re going through, it’s a relief to know that there’s a part of you that doesn’t want this.  
I tried telling you that. You wouldn’t listen. In fact, you got so angry that you actually backhanded me. You didn’t use your metal hand, thankfully, but you still did a lot of damage. Don’t feel bad, Jay. It was your fourth appearance, you were told everything you were living for was a lie, and that’s scary enough without being brainwashed. Wounds heal. I was fine. I am fine.  
I did decide to see what would make you violent, though, and I’ll admit that wasn’t the smartest of ideas. I lost my voice from how hard you choked me. I’m not sour about it. And like I said, I’m fine. You acted in the only was you knew how, and I learned how to navigate around you.  
You stayed two days that time. I think you felt bad for hurting me. A part of you wanted to make sure I was okay. I don’t know, I might be wrong.  
You ate enough for a small army and yet you still are in shape. How, I have no idea. It has to be your metabolism.  
You talked a lot on the second day. Well, in comparison to before, at least. You tried coffee and told me it tasted like bitter shit. You liked hot chocolate, though. Maybe that’s why you stayed. Your employers probably don’t give you hot chocolate, even though you mentioned that your home was cold. I like winter the most, actually. You can put on more clothes, drink steaming liquids without dying inside. Summer doesn’t give you that. Summer doesn’t give you snow, either.  
Anyways, I put on some background noise—I can’t remember what it was—and I swear I saw you nodding along to the beat. If either of us remember, I’ll play it for you.******


	14. |CHAPTER TEN|

The next morning, Eve makes a breakfast fit for an entire palace court. Bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, toast, pancakes. She even skips out on coffee for some orange juice. Jay was already awake and, after she asked, helped her by grabbing the plates and cups.

Eve answered a call over breakfast. Kurt, her old tech-savvy friend. He talked about his friends for a bit before saying that he could pop by in a week, if she promised to make Chile relleno.

Then came the knock on the door.

Jay moves quickly. He grabs his plate, glass, and silverware and actually jumps out the window. Eve runs to the door. She doesn’t have to look through the spy hole to see who it is.

She opens the door. A tall, muscly man stands there, looking friendly. Before he can talk, Eve sighs heavily. “Are you Sam Wilson?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You knew I was coming?”

“Tony likes to tell me when people are going to snoop. You want some breakfast? I made pretty much every breakfast food I could think of, so there’s plenty.”

“You cooked like this because you knew I’d be here?”

Eve closes the door behind him. “No, I cooked like this because I stress cook. My laptop got hacked into, and I’m getting Tony to program the new one I bought, but that doesn’t change the fact that some very sensitive documents are up for grabs. I don’t want another court case.”

Mr. Wilson helps himself to the eggs. Eve pours a glass of OJ for him and flops down into her chair. “So, Choclatino, let’s get this out of the way. No ex-assassins with metal arms have stopped by. When you leave, please tell Mr. Rogers that, and inform him that I’d very much like to be left alone, please.”

“I’ll tell him, but he wants his best friend back, and—wait, what did you call me?”

“Mr. Wilson?”

“Before that.”

“Oh, Choclatino. Tony’s love for nicknames rubbed off on me. He says to fuck off, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. “’Course he does. Anyways, Cap wants his friend back and since you’re the only friendly with a good amount of knowledge into him, so you’re obviously our best chance at getting Bucky back. Help a guy out.”

Very convincing. Eve sips her drink, thinking about what might be the best course of action. What to say? What lie to pick? Maybe a snarky comment? No, keep that to yourself.

“I respect Mr. Rogers, don’t get me wrong, but I already told him what I know, and none of it is applicable until he actually finds Mr. Barnes. He has better luck with Tony, or with cracking the files Ms. Romanoff spilled. I really don’t think I’m of much help.”

“Tell me a bit about him, then. Also, can I get seconds?”

Eve has to smile at that. “Go ahead.”

Once Mr. Wilson settles back down, Eve starts talking again.

“I didn’t know Mr. Barnes, I knew the Winter Soldier, and he’s very different. He’d show up, I’d give him food and a place to stay and sometimes I’d fix his arm. Nothing you don’t already know. He was hard to predict at first, but I’m used to being around people with PTSD—”

“He has PTSD?”

Eve frowns at him. “Of course. Due to the brainwashing, it would be harder to diagnose, but the behaviors matched up with PTSD and maybe dissociative identity disorder, that one I’m on the fence about. I did some research and acted accordingly. We made an unspoken deal that we wouldn’t tell anyone about each other and just lived our lives.”

“How much did he remember?”

“That varied wildly. Sometimes he remembered a lot, other times he didn’t even know me. It was a gamble on his memory every time.”

“He hurt you before, right?” Mr. Wilson wipes his mouth on a napkin. “The court files said he did.”

“Yeah, he did. Most of the time it was because I pushed him too far,” she admits, “and I pushed him to see where the limits were. You never know you’ve found a boundary until you cross it.”

“What were those boundaries?”

Well, if Jay ever wants to see Mr. Rogers again… No, he’ll have to figure it out himself. But… no. “You guys need to let Jay—sorry, you need to let Mr. Barnes figure himself out. Let him adjust and get himself back, because if you find him too early, you’ll do more harm than good.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.”

“At whose expense, Mr. Wilson?” Eve asks gently, resting her elbows on the table. “There were two victims each time he pulled that trigger, and that kind of stuff won’t magically go away. Ask Mr. Rogers what he did when he woke up from the ice. Did he immediately start diving into the world or did he let his mind grasp the situation? Did he allow people to barge into his life or did he close himself off until he could do more than survive?”

Mr. Wilson runs a hand over his face. “You think I haven’t asked that? He would go to war for the man. Or cyborg. Whatever he is, Steve only sees Bucky Barnes, and I’m not entirely certain they weren’t a thing in the forties. He’ll slit his own throat before he gives up on ‘im.”

“Take the leftovers to Mr. Rogers, will you? If he’s as stubborn as you’re making him out to be, then he’s probably skipping meals, and he needs some good, homemade food.”

It’s an obvious dismissal. Mr. Wilson understands, thanks Eve, and skedaddles.

Eve figures that Jay will come back in a few hours, to make sure no one’s lingering, so she tidies up the house for a bit. The makeshift bed on the couch might have aroused suspicion, but she can always say that she’d slept there the night before. She can always lie.

She used to hate lying. It feels like second nature, now.

She lets the dishes air dry. She’ll get Jay to put them up later. His height comes in handy. No more hauling herself onto the counters anymore.

Speaking of, he’s still not back. Eve scrawls a quick note and puts it on the table for him.

Tony is probably wondering what’s taking her so long.

She wasn’t supposed to make breakfast, but after yesterday, Eve figured that it might be welcome. Then Mr. Wilson showed up—

She pauses by the table again. There’s a note, and not the one she wrote for Jay.

Eve,  
Wanna get dinner? My number is on the back of this, if you feel like giving me a text. No Captain America interferences, either. Just us and the place of your choosing.  
-Sam Wilson

Eve pockets the note. Maybe she’ll take him up on the offer. Maybe. He’s probably not really this much of a snoop, and if Captain America is his friend, there’s a small chance that Mr. Wilson here is a jerk. Cocky, maybe, but definitely not your run of the mill asshole.

She leaves to go see Tony Stark.

A few streets away, Bucky watches her walk away.

He slips back into the house. He scrapes his plates and puts them in the dishwasher. She never uses it, he’s noticed, but why wash by hand when there’s a machine to do it for you? Bucky has no idea. He does, however, skim the thoughtful note she left.

Gone out. Stay safe. Don’t drink all the milk while making hot chocolate, I go to the store every other week and no more. Too tedious, you know?

Bucky smiles a little. He doesn’t know, actually. The last time he went grocery shopping has to have been in the forties, but he doesn’t remember doing it. He had a sister, right? Maybe she did it. Or… or his mom?

Before he can get more frustrated with himself, Bucky shoves the note in his pocket and starts to shadow Eve. To make sure she’s okay. Staying behind drove him bat-shit crazy, last time, and Bucky can’t tell what version of him was upset.

The old Bucky Barnes is… distorted. It’s like looking into a mirror and squinting your eyes. It’s him, but not exactly. The Winter Soldier is the exact opposite. He was the Soldier for a long time—longer than he’d been Sergeant Barnes, longer than he was himself—and HYDRA may have fucked him up pretty bad, but not enough to fully have control over him. Why else would they have that book?

The Soldier saw Eve as an assistant, at first. An expendable helper, like the technicians at HYDRA that worked on his arm. Then the familiarity came in. She was important, somehow, and he couldn’t cut the loose end. She was safe in ways that HYDRA never could be. He kept coming back for that familiarity, that safety. She went from an asset of his own to something of an ally.

He couldn’t stay away. The Soldier needed to make sure that she was unharmed.

When he discovered HYDRA was watching her, he almost relaxed. HYDRA would keep her alive if she proved useful, and in the Soldier’s eyes, she was more than that. That didn’t stop the Winter Soldier from checking up on her, or wanting to keep her to himself.

It isn’t hard to track her. It’s scarily easy, and after doing so for years, it’s all but muscle memory.

Bucky keeps a distance behind her. Out of sight, out of mind. No one notices him shadowing her. Between his practice and the fact that, in civilian clothes like this, there’s so many people that look like him, he’s practically a trick of the light.

She goes to a small coffee shop. Stark is there. They chat for a good hour and a half. She hands him the laptop, Stark pays the bill, and they split.

Eve waits outside on her phone. Bucky can see her annoyance. He would read her lips, but she’s keeps shaking her head and turning this way and that.

Then she’s walking again, this time back towards her house, and that’s when it happens.

Seven men outside of an apartment building start to call out after her. Eve ignores them. Bucky sees her picking her fingers, the only outward sign that she’s nervous. One of them hops on a bike—no, her bike—and starts lapping around her.

Bucky doesn’t think he’s been this tense in his life, other than when HYDRA was wiping him.

He wants to kill them.

The thought horrified him. He never truly wanted to kill any of his targets. It was a job, plain and simple, and that enough makes him ashamed. But this?

He quickly catches up to Eve. The guy on her bicycle had given up about a block back, so he doesn’t have to worry about the urge to murder him. Bucky wants to walk close by Eve’s side. It would deter anyone from stealing from her, or from doing worse.

God, his blood boils even thinking about what those… people said.

Focus on Eve, he reminds himself darkly. Get to her house, then worry about your problems.

Every step away from the source of his fury is both a relief and a cause for more anger.

He would love to teach them a lesson. He could do that very easily, outnumbered or not. But then there’s the rest of him, the parts that aren’t the Winter Soldier, and those parts beg him to not slit their throats. No matter how simple it would be.

He’s done it before.

He enters through the window a few minutes after Eve went inside. She smiles apologetically at Bucky the moment she sees him.

“I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t think that Mr. Rogers would send anyone that soon. Tony warned me, but I thought we had a few more days before he would come.”

Jay stares blankly at her. Eve notices the change and adapts accordingly.

“Since Tony has my laptop, we’re limited to books and karaoke. I still have a fair few books you can read, and there’s the journals. I shaved my head like, six years ago on a whim and kept the razor, so you can trim yourself up with that and scissors if you want. Or I can do it for you.”

He stays quiet, still. Sometimes, he figures out what to say. Now, his mind is fixed on the assholes who stole her bike, and the fact that she walked by as if they didn’t exist. They can’t have been doing this for a long time. He would have noticed. It’s recent. But if it is, they’re getting bold very quickly.

She’s too small. Her kindness is a huge weakness.

She’ll get hurt.

“Jay?” He blinks back into the present. Eve is looking at him with a concerned furrow in her brow. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, he walks over to the corner he’s more or less claimed as his vantage point.

Eve wonders what the hell happened.

Bucky wonders if the best way to keep Eve and everyone else safe is to end his own life.

Neither talk for the rest of the evening.


	15. |CHAPTER ELEVEN|

Eve doesn’t think much of Jay’s mood switch. It was always indifference or thinly veiled sarcasm in the four years he’d pop by, but now he’s remembering. He knows he was used. He’s warring with himself and every aspect of his person.

She’s not an idiot. She knows that he was following her, probably to make sure she wouldn’t snitch after the abrupt visit from Mr. Wilson. He should know she wouldn’t snitch, right? Four years of silence and lies should prove that. So why was he mad?

Really, those punks that took her bike aren’t even that big of a threat. He must think so, Eve supposes, but they aren’t a problem. An inconvenience, sure, but she’s dealt with that kind of attention before. She knows she’s attractive. She knows that boys are visual creatures and that, when brought up without decency and respect, they behave like that. Idiots, that is.

She can’t hold it against them. As Perry Smith said, “Being brought up one way and trying to see another way is very difficult.”

Eve struggles with that herself. She thinks that Jay would like that quote; didn’t she write that in one of the journals?

Maybe she’ll write it on a sticky note and leave it somewhere he can see, just in case.

He’s still in his corner. The journals are hidden somewhere; Eve doesn’t know where. He’s holding his gun in his hands, his metal pointer finger resting lightly on the trigger. Eve doesn’t like the empty look on his face. She doesn’t like the way he looks down at the gun.

Seeing him like this, she can only think of Adam.

She holes herself up in her room and rearranges everything to keep her occupied and distracted. She takes a long, cold shower. She can't fall asleep.

In fact, she ends up curled on her side, staring at her hands like there’s blood on them.

For the first time in years, she feels that sadness her throat and squeeze the tears out of her eyes.

~

She wakes up puking. It’s a horrible feeling, throwing up. Eve knows exactly what the problem is.

She skipped lunch and dinner. She dismissed her shakiness as nerves. Now, she’s paying the price.

Jay hovers at the bathroom door. Eve can’t tell him anything. Her mind is disconnected from her tongue. It’s hard to focus on much. The sour taste of vomit makes her puke some more. The inside of the trashcan is disgusting, sheltered by a plastic bag or not.

Something cool touches the back of her neck. Eve jolts a bit at it before arching into it; Jay’s metal hand feels like heaven right now, what with her body hot like she’s running a fever. She’s not, of course, but since Jay doesn’t know about her hypoglycemia, he probably thinks she’s sick.

His flesh hand holds her hair back. Once she stops and is able to breathe deeply, she spits into the trash.

“Ugh. So gross,” she mumbles. “Grab me a glass of—oh.”

Jay already has one in his free hand. Eve washes her mouth out and smiles faintly. Mr. Rogers used to get sick like this. Looks like he remembers caring for his best friend. Or lover, like Sam said. Who knows?

“Thank you.”

He nods curtly and starts to leave. Eve grabs his wrist.

“Can you please get me some OJ?”

He gets her some OJ. This time, he doesn’t leave. He waits patiently for Eve to sip on the juice. When it’s about halfway gone, he helps her up and to the couch. Eve doesn’t bother telling him that, while she appreciates it and her legs are shaking horribly, she can walk fine.

“What time is it?” she grumbles, squinting at the clock. Her mouth drops open. “It’s 9:46. I slept in that much? Wow. I don't even remember falling asleep.”

Jay sits down next to her after placing a trash can in front of her. He narrows his eyes, like he’s thinking, and Eve attempts a smile.

“I know you probably don’t know what to say, and that’s fine, but I can’t read minds. Just say whatever you’re thinking. I’ll be fine, bluntly said or not.”

“I asked you if you were done the last time you puked,” he says slowly, a frown tugging his mouth down. Eve hesitates before nodding. Does he remember? The next words out of his mouth answer her unspoken question. “I read some of your entries.”

Eve wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Surprisingly, he talks some more.

“You need to learn to fight.”

Unsurprisingly, Eve is caught off guard. “What?”

He makes direct, unflinching eye contact. His shoulders are as tense as his tone. “I followed you; those punks stole your bike. They could hurt you, they said they wanted to. You need to learn to fight.”

“Any particular reason why you decided to shadow me?” Eve asks, not unkindly. Tiredly, yes, and with the resignation of someone who doesn’t expect an answer, but not harshly.

“You’re small.”

Eve’s a little miffed now.

“I’m small,” she says flatly.

He nods, a crease in his brow. “Yes. You’re small and your kindness is weakness, you’ll get hurt.”

Try to understand, Eve, before you go off on him.

“My kindness isn’t weakness, Jay, and while being tiny is a bit of an annoyance, it is in no way an indicator that I need to be protected.”

“That’s why you need to learn how to fight.”

There’s a cold edge to his voice, now. It’s gruff. Eve narrows her eyes. He’s not backing down, then.

But this isn’t coffee. Eve isn’t a fighter. Besides, Adam had the same worries, and he gave her a rundown of how to kick a bit of ass before he went to boot camp. Eve can hold her own against a scrappy guy on the street long enough to get away. Jay is talking about a real fight, where fists and bluffing and a quick retreat won’t be enough.

She forces herself to stand up. The room spins a bit, so she grabs the sink counter to steady herself. With as much dignity as she can muster—which is a shockingly large amount—Eve says calmly, “How about we make a deal, Jay?”

He glares down at her. She smiles, all soft and honeyed.

“I’ll train with you for a week. I won’t complain or give you grief, but you don’t get to discourage my caffeine habits for the same length of time.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He nods, looking quite suspicious. “There’s nothing else?”

“I know you were manipulated for over seventy years, Jay, so you have every right to be cautious, but this is me we’re talking about.” She slides the trashcan back in its place. “I promise when I say that I won’t toy with you like that. If I do, you can smack some sense into me. For now, though, I’m going to eat some peanut butter bread. I’m not making breakfast today, though, so that one is on you. Have you already eaten?”

A curt nod. A lie, too, but Eve doesn’t press.

He decides he’s done talking. Eve just bites back a sigh. He follows her into the kitchen and watches closely while she prepares her grand meal.

Bucky can’t believe she agreed so easily. She has to be planning something.

She is, in a way.

One week will end. Eve has no doubt that he’ll try and make her go for longer, and when he tells her to, she’ll make another deal. And the process will continue until Jay is satisfied, or until he quits, because Eve sure as hell isn’t backing down.

Her momma didn’t raise a quitter.

Funny how her momma quit on you, though. Irony, am I right or am I right?

Eve ignores that thought as easily as she ignores Jay’s piercing stare.

Bucky, however, is wondering if she’s sick. When he asks Eve about the reason for her puking, she shrugs.

“I have hypoglycemia, also called low blood sugar, which is basically the fancy way of saying that my body doesn’t make enough glucose.” There’s a small grin on her face. Bucky’s gaze lingers on her mouth for a moment. “Perks of being me, I suppose. Anyways, if I puke some more, just fetch some water and orange juice. I’ll make it.”

“You don’t care about your health.”

Eve makes a ‘so-so’ gesture. “I mean, I guess. I eat and drink and sleep enough, my brain makes the dopamine and other happy chemicals, and I keep on going.”

“Your hands,” he says, scowling now.

“A nervous habit.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don't only do it when you’re nervous.”

“I do it all the time, Jay—”

“Anxiety,” he interrupts. His arms are crossed. Eve compares the metal arm to the flesh one briefly, taking a moment to appreciate HYDRA’s work. The only good thing that came of them was how they considerately measures one arm and plated the other to match. Jay’s voice brings her back again. “And you’re hyper-vigilant.”

What, is it call out Eve’s tendencies day?

She sips her OJ.

Bucky seems to realize he’s making her unhappy and cuts himself off, a frustrated look on his face. Eve changes the subject.

“So, is there anything you want to do today?”

“No.”

“Really? You don’t want to start training me for the Olympics?”

The teasing words have no effect on the ex-assassin. Jay only shakes his head again. “No, you got sick.”

Eve grimaces. “Yeah, don’t remind me. I’d prefer diarrhea over puking any day.”

The conversation dies. Eve retreats first, to the couch, and starts to read the self-help book she checked out. It’s hard to focus, however, when there’s a genetically enhanced soldier doing push ups in her living room.

The way his metal arm works is still fascinating. And yes, muscles are nice.

Focus on the book, genius, she thinks dimly as he switches to curl ups. Or at least be more inconspicuous. Geez, it would be better if you stood up and shouted, ‘Oh boy, he’s a handsome motherfucker!’

Self help is uninteresting with Mr. I’m-Fit-And-Beautiful-And-Could-Take-Down-Europe-In-A-Night over there.

She gives up.

A nice, cold shower is due.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Bucky works through his memories while exercising.

“Доброе утро, солдат.”

“I promise, the Cyclone isn’t even that bad!”

A small blonde man, throwing up into a bin.

“I hate you so much right now, Buck.”

Falling, falling, falling.

“Now, why would I do that?”

Landing.

“—we going?”

Dancing. Music, upbeat and wordless.

“The future.”

Bright lights, no stars, new guns, old ghosts.

“Put him on ice.”

“Отчет о миссии.”

Sniper rifles. Bomb casings. The crosshairs line up.

“Отчет о миссии.”

Pull the trigger.

“Отчет о миссии.”

Blood splatters. Sirens, silence, screaming, silence, sirens, screaming—

“Молодец солдат.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

Sunlight glances off the snow.

“I’m with you until the end of the line, pal.”

Sunlight hits the water. The man on the bridge gasps for breath behind him. The Winter Soldier keeps walking.

Bucky breaths hard as he cools down. The shower is on in the bathroom. He doesn’t recall Eve getting up. Too lost in thought, he supposes. Part of him wonders if these thoughts are real, or if he’s imagining them to fill some blank space inside of his head.

They feel real. He can hear the screaming at night, feel the kick of a gun against his shoulder, taste the smoke like it’s coming from his own lungs. He can see every face of every target, too, but they blur together. He wishes he didn’t see them at all.

But yesterday, he caught sight of Eve’s expression when she saw him holding the gun. It was… her expression was strange. Pale, wide-eyed, slack jawed. Terrified, like she was somewhere other than where she was standing. Honestly, he’d almost put the weapon down and asked if she was alright, but by the time he’d worked up the courage, she was in her room.

Bucky had hesitated outside her door, fist raised to knock. He backed off when he heard a choked, muffled sob.  
He felt horrible. He wanted to go to her, but he has no idea how to handle himself, let alone Eve’s crying. What would he do, watch blankly while trying to think of something to say? No, Bucky was right in staying by himself. In contemplating biting to bullet.

He doesn’t know exactly why he didn’t, honestly. He wants to. Everything’s jumbled together. It’s coming back too quick, all at once. Distinguishing one thing from another and carrying over seventy years of guilt is exhausting. Nightmares chase him into insomnia, so he doesn’t get rest. At least in hell he wouldn’t be causing anyone trouble.

“Steve, I know you’re Catholic, and I know I promised I'd go to Mass with you, but can we skip church today?”

“Bucky!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

A grenade goes off.

Bucky blinks the light and ash away. His ears are ringing. He frowns a bit, pushing aside the urge to duck under something.

Just a memory, Bucky. It can’t hurt you.

Oh, but the words beg to differ.

Enough.

He gulps down some water. The ringing subsides a few minutes after the water cuts off in the bathroom. Eve walks out looking more relaxed than she has in a day or two. There’s a genuine gleam in her eyes.

“You haven’t read Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings, have you?”

“Read what?”  
~  
Eve convinced Bucky to let her read the books out loud. She was so excited that he’d mutely nodded his defeat. The enthusiasm carried on throughout the first book of Harry Potter. Bucky doesn’t know if he likes the book or Eve’s voice, but whichever it is, he was disappointed when Eve put the book down to make dinner. Afterwards, though, he got her to keep reading.

She fell asleep mid-chapter, her body sprawled on the floor ungracefully. Bucky carefully removed the book. The words drive his tiredness away. He finishes the book and starts the sequel by the time Eve snores herself awake sometime past eleven.

“You dirty cheat,” she accuses groggily. Bucky raises his eyebrows at her. “You kept reading.”

“You stopped mid chapter.”

“So, you start the next book?”

He smiles a bit as she stumbles to her room, grumbling incoherently under her breath.

Bucky relaxes into the couch.

For once, he almost feels safe.

He knows better than to get truly comfortable, though.  
~  
The next few days give into a rhythm. Eve cooks. Bucky cleans. They'll read together. Eve suffers through some exercising, and true to her word, she doesn't complain. Bucky doesn't comment on her daily intake of coffee, and Eve smiles wide every time she takes a sip. How can she not? His expression gets so grumpy.

Of course, grumpy on James Buchannan Barnes is the equivalent of staring death in the eyes. Eve doesn't find it that scary, though. It used to be. Now, not so much.

However, sit ups are a source for intense hatred.

"How many more?" Eve wheezes.

Bucky holds her legs down. He adopts the Winter Soldier's oh-so expressive face when he's doing this with her. And Eve may be sarcastic when she says his face is expressive, but his eyes are a completely different story. They speak of worlds of pain and shame and cold, hard survival.

His eyes are somewhere between blue and grey. Eve decides that it's her new favorite color.

"Ten more," he informs tonelessly.

Eve groans but obliges before a complaint can escape her.

She makes it to six before she collapses on to her back, breathing hard. She knows better than to say she can't do it. Jay knows better than to comment on how physically weak she is.

I hate this so much, she thinks. And she sits up again.

By the time she's done, Jay looks dissatisfied.

It doesn't matter. Eve limps to the kitchen and more or less drowns herself in water. Two more days of this and the deal will end.

Bucky watches her, void of expression.

"You said Stark drops by today?"

She nods instead of answering verbally. Words are hard. Nodding is easy. Breath is hard to come by these days.

"And in four days your techie friend is going to show up?"

Another nod. Eve smiles a bit, trying to calm his obvious apprehension. "Don't sweat it, Jay. Tony has a love-hate relationship with Mr. Rogers, so even if he does realize I'm helping you, there's a good chance I can convince him to keep it hush-hush. As for my 'techie friend'..."

How best to describe him? Scratch that, how to describe him in a way that won't make Jay's nerves even worse?

"Well, he's a special guy. You'll see. He's wicked smart with his keystrokes, but he also isn't the most clean guy around. I got a well-known doctor based in Germany a fully functioning prosthetic eye after an incident with a Norse god, so when my friend got into some trouble with him, I saved him from Germany's finest federal prison."

"He's a criminal."

Eve laughs at Jay's dry tone. "Don't sound so excited, now," she teases, tossing a damp rag at his face. He catches it easily. "Anyways, Tony likes to talk. Be prepared for a longer-than-bargained-for visit. And if it sounds like I'm annoyed, don't worry. I love the man. He just so happens to have a very unique personality that sometimes warrants annoyance."

"I knew Howard Stark," Jay says quietly. "He made a car fly."

"His son is brilliant, too. He's one of the smartest people alive."

Jay seems a little off, but Eve dismisses it as jitters.

A mistake. Maybe the biggest she's made in years.  
~  
Bucky sits uncomfortably in the closet. Tony Stark is chatting in the living room, all swagger and sarcasm, and Bucky remembers his dad being the same way. If they're anything alike, the poise is a bluff, and Tony Stark is internally waging wars.

"Like I said, though, if you're trying to hack into governmental databases, please call me! You know I love that stuff."

"I also know that you're redesigning things for the Avengers. Like the Mjolnir replica-"

"Which, by the way, is absolutely amazing. How on Earth did you make them look identical?"

Boring conversation. Bucky would rather be anywhere but the cramped closet space.

"Anyways, are your parents still being grade-A assholes?"

That's more interesting.

Eve's tone gets quieter. "They aren't assholes, Tony."

"They basically disowned you, Eve." A mug hits the wood. Stark almost sounds angry for Eve. "No communication, all because you were used by HYDRA like a kid uses a toy. Not the best analogy, but you get the idea. That sounds like the picture of assholery to me."

"They're my parents."

"Not according to them."

"Tony."

Bucky has to blink away his surprise. He's heard Eve angry, but this is different. This is flat and cold. He can imagine her tiny hands clenched around the coffee pot; her mouth will have been pulled into a thin line. He wants to smack Stark for being so insensitive, but—

“Sergeant Barnes?”

The breath drains straight from his lungs.

He remembers.

Oh, God, he remembers—

“Howard?”

Choked, gasping breaths. Two bodies in a wrecked car. Cause of death—blunt force trauma and strangulation. The serum in the back swinging in his hands. The camera that saw it all shot from existence.

Somewhere, there is footage of the Winter Soldier assassinating Howard and Maria Stark.

The ragged breathing fills his head. Bucky bites down on his metal hand to stop himself from making any noise.

He can’t breathe.

“Howard?”

He can’t see.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

“Where are we going?”

“To the future.”

“Jay, Tony left, you can—oh shit, are you okay?”

Eve is kneeling in front of him. Without thinking, he lurches forward. He rests his forehead on her thin shoulder, sobbing violently.

The memories clash. Some fall into place, others blur and morph. The only constant is Maria Stark struggling for air. Struggling against a ghost.

No, that’s not the only constant.

Eve doesn’t speak, but she’s there. She’s right there. She’s gently combing her fingers through his hair. She’s resting one hand between his shoulder blades, her warm touch seeping through the tank top. Slowly, his vision stops swimming. His chest and throat still feel like they’re being squeezed, but he’s able to suck in shaky breaths.

Eve doesn’t pull away. Bucky doesn’t have it in him to feel uncomfortable right now. He sinks lower into her careful grip, distantly wondering why she’s so light with her touches. He’s the one with a serum running through his veins.

He’s grateful, though. For her gentleness.

Don’t tell her about killing them. She’ll hate you. Tony Stark is her friend.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks. Bucky tenses very slightly; her breath is warm on his shoulder. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. He sticks with what he does know.

“Yeah.” A pause. “I’ll be okay.”

“M’kay.”

They stay there for a few more minutes. Then, Eve says: “Do you want me to make hot chocolate?”

Bucky shakes his head. He wants to stay here for a little bit. To get himself together. He doesn’t even find himself caring that he’s hugging Eve, much less finding that it’s enough of a comfort to keep him grounded. He’d have thought that physical contact would have the opposite effect. Is it because the Winter Soldier was fond of her? Is it because he is the one that’s fond of her?

Eve sighs a bit, sending goosebumps up Bucky’s neck. “I thought I told you that my room was open for you.”

“Didn’t wanna invade your privacy.”

“We’re basically roommates now, Jay.”

“Still.”

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you were listening to the conversation, and that’s fine, I just want to know if you have any questions. More to the point, do you have any questions about my relationship with my parents?”

Silence. Brief, but heavy. Eve hurries to end it.

“It’s not your fault. I—”

“I told them about you.”

He pulls back. Bucky’s jaw clenches around the words, but he keeps going.

“I’m the reason your life has gone to shit."

He searches her expression for any strong emotion. There’s only confusion.

“I know that you told them, Jay, but my life hasn’t gone to shit. I’ve hit a rough patch, yeah, but I’m still happy.”

“Your parents hate you.”

Now he gets a reaction. Her stare drops from his face to her hands. Quietly, she says, “I know.”

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s HYDRA’s fault.”

“The Winter Soldier, then.”

“The Winter Soldier didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“But I hurt you.”

“Jay—”

“Why are you helping me?”

She doesn’t so much as flinch at his harsh tone. She doesn’t flinch when he jumps to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

“I’ve done nothing for you, and from the beginning, you’ve been nothing but nice. Why? I fucked up everything.”

Eve stays seated on the floor, staring at her hands. Her voice is steadier than before. “I get attached easily, and I felt useless as a kid so I make up for it as an adult. Between those two and a lack of self-preservation, I ended up helping you. My question is: why did you come back?”

Jay feels most of the fight drain from him. He doesn’t want to answer that question. The searching, serious look on Eve’s face convinces him to talk.

“You were safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Доброе утро, солдат: Good morning, Soldier.  
Отчет о миссии: Mission report.  
Молодец солдат: Well done, Soldier.


	16. |CHAPTER TWELVE|

Bucky is not amused with Eve’s old friend, Kurt.

For one, he brought friends. Dave and Luis. Both are just as flighty as Kurt, and both have criminal records. If that isn’t an indicator of caution, then Bucky has no idea what is. And do you know what’s worse? Eve completely dismissed all weapons from the area. So, while Bucky camps out in Eve’s room—which looks like it’s rarely used for anything other than sleeping—Eve starts laying out the deal.

“I thought I said to come alone, Kurt,” she says calmly. Inside, she’s fuming and slightly panicked. Dave is cool, he’ll keep his mouth shut, but Luis? Hell no.

“I know, but you offered food, and we were hungry.” Kurt smiles sheepishly. “You are upset like cat spooked by dog, yes?”

“Yes, Kurt, I am.”

“Hey, Miss Eve Lady, I, well, really we, want to thank you for letting us in even after we came without your permission, especially since you’re going to be doing top secret illegal things. I’m like, wow, this is one awesome lady, you know? Like, you made us food and all this and we get to help you hack into HYDRA’s files.”

Dave nods in agreement with Luis’s tangent. “Yeah, thanks for the food. You like cooking?”

“When my guests are invited.”

“Ouch,” Luis mutters.

Eve looks at Kurt again. She crosses her arms and furrows her eyebrows, all business. He sobers up pretty quick.

“Kurt, all I need you to do is decipher the files and send them to my computer through the server I hooked up. It’s safeguarded by Stark Tech, so it’s untraceable, thus granting you safety. We keep it silent on both our sides and go about our daily lives. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am. I keep my promise with you for the German prison escape.”

“Whoa, you broke him out of prison?” Luis starts to talk again, but Eve sends him a stern look and he quickly shuts up.

“Thank you, Kurt.”

“Are we not gonna ask why she wants this?” Dave throws his hands around. “I mean, she got hanky-panky with a Soviet assassin for a few years, you sure this isn’t to help her friend with benefits and bombs?”

Eve is truly about to snap. These people wear her patience thinner than pulled thread.

Luis is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“Dude, you can’t just mention that, she lost her job and her family for a few nights with a metal arm and maybe some chains, she kinda seems like the kind of—”

“Finish that sentence, Luis, and you’ll never taste any of my cooking again. As for you, Dave, what I want to do with this is of no importance to any of you, and if word of this gets out, I’m sure that prison in Germany has a few open cells. They’ll show you chains in a better way than I could.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorus. They sound afraid. They certainly looked terrified.

“Great,” she says, her tone much lighter now that she’s successfully scared them into secrecy. “You guys finish your food, okay? I have to grab my laptop and show Kurt the server.”

Her laptop is in her room, and she does need to do these things, but her main reason for going to her room is to make sure that Jay is okay.

He’s sitting on her bed, a gun in hand, his eyes trained on the door. He doesn’t look particularly upset, thankfully. Actually, there’s an amused smirk on his chapped mouth.

“Chains?”

That’s the first word out of his mouth. Immediately, Eve is fighting back laughter. She settles for a giggle.

“Apparently, I’m the type. You okay?” she asks quietly, grabbing the electronic from the foot of the bed.

He nods. “I don’t like them.”

Eve’s smile turns sympathetic. “They’ll be gone soon.”

“Still.”

She closes the door behind her.

Dave quickly learns the server. Eve packs them the leftovers and they’re gone soon after. The visit wasn’t long, really, but it felt like hours, not one hour. Jay was more than thrilled when he could come back out.

She doesn’t comment when he sweeps every room for any bugs. He finds a few ants, but none of the bugs he was looking for.

“I didn’t get any of your relleno.”

Eve does a doubletake. “Did you just whine?”

He looks defensive. Instead of justifying himself, he sulkily scoops the remainder out of the pot and eats what little bit is left. Eve can’t help it; she bursts out into cackles, grabbing her stomach to try and ease the stitch it causes.

He keeps asking why she’s laughing. She chokes out a few nonsensical words before she finally collects herself.

“The former Winter Soldier whined because he didn’t get a serving of my food and proceeded to eat what was left straight out of the pot.”

A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

Looks like the Winter Soldier is thawing out.

That was a horrible pun.

“You told them off,” he says after a moment. Eve hears the thinly veiled amusement in his voice; her neck and ears burn. It’s not funny.

“I did,” she says, almost loftily. “And it worked, they’re too scared to blab.”

“You aren’t scary.”

Now she’s offended. “Excuse you?”

“You aren’t scary,” he repeats. Hair falls in his face. He doesn’t brush it away. “They were scared because I opened the door. They saw my arm and the pistol.”

Silence. Eve stares at him, slack-jawed.

“You opened the door.”

“Yes.”

“You opened the door.”

“Yes, you just said that.”

“James Buchannan Barnes—” His eyebrows raise at the use of his full name. “—what the actual fuck were you thinking? They’ve seen you, what if they decide it’s too risky and talk or if they realize that there’s a huge bounty for you and they go on that route instead? They’re thieves, Jay, they hold money and their own safety in equal regard, and knowing this makes them very unsafe! And how did Mr. Rogers get ‘Bucky’ from Buchannan? That makes no sense whatsoever. That’s off topic. What were you thinking, opening that door? Have you not heard the song? Close the goddamn door!”

“Are you done?”

Cue nostalgia and fury in equal measure.

“Hell no.”

She rips into him for a solid seven and a half minutes before, out of breath, she mutters, “I’m brewing coffee with vodka.”

“No.”

“And now he has the nerve to—our deal—”

“Our deal ended. I don’t want you doing that because I fucked up again.”

Jay shuffles his feet. He’s looking at the ground, and instantly Eve feels horrible. She puts her hand on his metal shoulder. When he flinches, she quickly retracts her hands.

“I’m sorry, not just for touching you without permission but for yelling at you, I didn’t handle that right. I shouldn’t have projected by stress and anger onto you.”

Unsurely, he takes her wrist and moves it to his real shoulder. She doesn’t know why, but his temperature seems to run lower than usual. Maybe it’s his version of the serum. Maybe he’s just cold.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.”

He meets her gaze. “I don’t like how they talk to you. They aren’t safe, I don’t want them over again.”

“Neutral location next time, then.”

“Only if I come.”

“You have to remain hidden.”

“Both of us will be armed. You haven’t been taking the gun.”

Eve swallows. She doesn’t want to tell him that, ever since it looked like he was contemplating death by bullet, she’s been too afraid to touch the thing. It makes her think of Adam, of the blood on the wall and the chunks of brain on the bedspread.

She clears her throat of the anxiety that had wrapped its fist around her. “I’ll take a knife instead.”

“Then I get to teach you how to use it right.”

“I get to brew vodkoffee.”

“No.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“You need to drink water.”

“Says the man that drinks hot chocolate like his life depends on it.”

“Eve.”

She really hates the shivers she gets when his voice gets all low and scratchy like that.

“Buchannan.” As soon as the word is past her lips, he’s pink in the face, mouth open a bit, and Eve scratches the back of her head. “Sorry, that slipped out. I like it better than Bucky, though, and Jay is more of the Winter Soldier than you, if you get what I mean.”

“’S fine,” he mumbles, looking somewhere between uncomfortable and surprised. “Not used to it. Do we have a deal?”

“Of course.”

They shake on it. Both parties are satisfied. Well—

“You should have left some of the Chile relleno.”

“Really?”

He nods very seriously. “You should make some more.”

Eve rolls her eyes. “Eventually.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. Bucky makes sure that Eve is okay; she seems guilty, even though they made amends. Both made mistakes. She shouldn’t have taken everything out on him and he shouldn’t have let them see him. It puts Eve is more danger, and himself. He deserved the scolding—she didn’t yell, despite her calling it that—and it was much kinder than what he’d received in the past. She didn’t look scary when she fussed, either.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it when she called him ‘Buchannan’. He can’t remember ever being called that. It was always Bucky or Buck or Barnes, not Buchannan. 

It’s nice, though, and while he’d been shocked at the new name, it wasn’t bad.

Maybe that’s because Eve is the one calling him that.

Speaking of, Eve fell asleep on the couch while they were reading. Bucky knows she’s a heavy sleeper, but he’s still wary of taking her to her bed.

What does one do in this situation? Do you leave her? Cover her with a blanket? Move her? Does he sleep on the floor or in her bed? Is that weird? What the hell is he supposed to do?

Also, how did she calm down so quickly after their argument? Bucky thought women were pricklier than that. At least, they were in the forties. He’s remembering a lot, and writing a lot.

Back to the situation at hand.

“Fuck it,” he whispers. He picks her up. Immediately, her head lolls awkwardly over his metal arm, and drool hangs from the corner of her mouth. He smiles at that and doesn’t bother hiding it, seeing as she’s dead asleep.

He carefully sets her down. Apparently, she’s prone to grabbing whatever is nearest to her. She refuses to let go of him, which leads to Bucky leaning at an awkward angle. Instead of working in his favor, it allows Eve to more or less bear hug him, and now he’s both flustered and worried about what to do.

This is definitely not what he’d planned.

Painstakingly, Bucky untangles himself and substitutes his body for one of the many pillows she seems to hoard. She keeps drooling. Bucky leaves quickly, nearly forgetting to turn off the lights in his haste to leave, and he ends up opening the journal to read more of her entries. Sleep seems a long way off, anyways.


	17. -ENTRY FIVE-

**I found you the fifth time. I weird change from the usual, am I right?  
I was grocery shopping and there you were, dressed like a civilian, but I saw the blood on your boots. I guess you thought you were being stealthy, following me like that. Maybe it’s just because I’m way too observant for my own good.  
You followed me back home, too, but you never came in. I don’t know why. I did leave the windows open for you, though, and I made some extra food in case you decided to come in. You never did.  
I admit, I was disappointed. At that point, I started to see you as a friend. I enjoyed your company, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual, and your visits had become a breath of fresh air from all the business deals and seven-days-a-week workload.  
The food was gone in the morning. Goose came back for a few weeks, too. Do you remember Goose? The not-cat thing? My friend, Sharon, eventually was given clearance to tell me a bit about the animal. Goose is a Flerken, which is some sort of alien-thing.  
Aliens exist. It’s so cool! Mom would rant about aliens and how, if they existed, their portrayal in the media was completely wrong. Who knew that she’d be right? Not me, definitely, but the fact that aliens exist is so amazing!  
Think about it, Jay. Galaxies upon galaxies exist. Various life forms have evolved to live in these environments. Co-existing with them means we can learn from them and learning from them means we, as humans, can evolve ourselves. Improvement of all sorts is just on the horizon. I wonder if humanity is ready for it.******


	18. -ENTRY SIX-

**Shaving is my least favorite thing, but with all the business meetings I’d been going on, I caved. I bought a dress and hopped into the tub to start taming the hair-jungle.  
You decided to swing by in the middle of me shaving. And not just by walking into my apartment, either. You walked right into the kitchen and tried to reheat some leftovers. Instead, the oven caught fire. I don’t know how. I remember hearing the smoke alarm going off and thinking, ‘I have no time to get dressed.’  
I don’t know if it was you or me that was more shocked.  
I had a razor in my hand, shaving cream dripping down my legs, and I was completely naked. Jay, I laugh now, but I was mortified to see you there. Fire right behind you, your weapons neatly placed on the counter, and the most horrified look on your face. I don’t think I’d run that fast in my life.  
After I put on a bathrobe, I put out the fire. You stayed silent until after you ate. Neither of us said a word. The first thing out your mouth was this: “You nicked your legs.”  
We pretended like it never happened after that. You stayed three nights. We watched a few movies (you liked Hot Tub Time Machine the most) and I introduced you to different sorts of food. It broke my heart when I saw that there were needle marks on your arm. Your employers don’t feed you, do they? They just give you nutrients through an IV.  
I hope for your employer’s sake that we never meet. I don’t get angry easily, and I’ve never hated someone before, but I know for a fact that I hate your organizations. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them between the eyes, and that’s coming from me. Violence isn’t my forte, Jay, and here I am. Thinking about blowing someone’s brains out.******


	19. -ENTRY SEVEN-

**After that, your appearances got a bit more frequent. The seventh time you showed up was a lot happier. You remembered last time. You got pissed when I said I had to leave for a conference, though. You tried to make me bring a weapon, but I told you no. You were all sorts of upset. Thankfully, you let it go.  
Or so I thought.  
The conference was with the Weaponized Technology branch of the Army. You broke through their security and pulled me to the side when I was leaving. Apparently, you had learned I didn’t have a car or a motorcycle and were very angry that I’d planned on biking home.  
I really don’t want to know how you got that motorcycle. I really do want to know how you weren’t pulled over. You were going the speed limit and obeying laws, sure, but you weren’t exactly discreet. That, and you tailgate. Like, really bad.  
You dropped me off, lectured me, and disappeared without a goodbye.  
I smiled the rest of the afternoon. You remembered, and you let your guard down fully for the first time. I actually got to see you be you. I loved it, too, and if I was religious, I'd pray for you to do it again.******


	20. -ENTRY EIGHT-

**Next time, it was back to square one. You threatened me into silence, demanded to know who I was, and when I answered, you thought I was lying. You were about to shoot me, I think, but something stopped you. I don’t know what. I hadn’t fought you at all, hadn’t said a word, and yet you hesitated.  
Something was wrong. It wasn’t Goose, she left when she saw you. I don’t think she’s particularly fond of you. Anyways, you seemed upset. The fireworks outside might have had a part in that, but July 4th cannot be stopped. Americans love their freedom, ironically enough.  
I say its ironic because America, Land of the Free, was built on slavery and death and annihilation. The first Americans killed the Native Indians—the real, true Americans—in droves. Freedom, they called it, even when they tore down anything and everything around them.  
Makes me think of that organization. I know it’s HYDRA, now, and I know that they played me like a fiddle, but they’re like those first Americans. Invaders, a cancer, and yet both have thrived for years. I wonder when America’s end will come. Is it bad that I look forward to that day?******


	21. -ENTRY NINE-

**When you showed up again, you were shaking and on the verge of tears. You collapsed right by the window, put your head in your hands, and started to cry. You were talking under your breath. I hated every word that came out your mouth. It was a variation of “Please,” “Put me down,” and “Make them stop.”  
I wasn’t sure if you’d let me touch you or comfort you at all, but I went out on a whim. I sat beside you and put my head on your shoulder.  
You melted like hot butter. One moment, you seemed ready to kill me or run. The next, you were slumped against me, telling me that I needed to kill you. God, Jay, how could I not cry? How could I keep myself all calm and poised with you like that?  
You fell asleep a few hours later. You didn’t let me move, so I ended up laying on the couch. You more or less flopped on top of me. I didn’t mind, even though you were heavy. You woke up multiple times with nightmares. In the morning, you seemed dead. You didn’t even seem to exist. You just… were there. It scared me, honestly. It reminded me of Adam, when he was discharged.  
In the softest tone I’ve ever heard you use, you told me, “I don’t want them to take it away.” I asked what ‘it’ was, but you just shook your head and said, “Me.”  
I guess you realized that I had no clue how to respond, because you more or less jumped out the window. That’s okay. If I could survive that sort of thing, I would do the same.******


	22. -ENTRY TEN-

**True to your word, you were back to blank. You showed up and ate. Showered. Then you looked me dead in the eye and asked me to remember something for you. You wanted me to remember that your favorite color was blue. I said I would.  
Your arm needed a tune up, so I fixed it for you. You seemed hesitant to leave that time. You did tell me that I should make waffles next time, though.  
I guess you like breakfast more than any other meal. Figures—I make a damn good breakfast.******


	23. -ENTRY ELEVEN-

**You were hurt again when you found me in the veterans’ cemetery. I was putting new flowers with Adam and I look over to see you, metal arm completely fried and blood dripping down your face. I forgot my bike. I ran home with you right by my side.  
Again, as you read, I’m not a nurse or a doctor. I didn’t puke this time, luckily. I gagged a bit, yeah, but head wounds bleed a lot, so it looked a lot worse than it was. You didn’t say a word until I started working on your arm.  
Apparently, hitting your head knocked some memory into you, because you hurriedly told me everything you could. When you were done talked, you asked me to remember for you. I said I would, and I have. Most of it is jumbled around, honestly, but I wrote it out so I’d remember in detail. I have that paper in an old pair of shoes.  
After that, you were silent again. You told me that they would reprogram you. That remembering gets you hurt.  
It took five days to fix your arm, and leaving you so I could work was rough on both of us. Conversation was always sporadic. Your mood fluctuates a lot, or at least it did. Not that I minded. I’ve learned to navigate through chaos and unpredictable situations pretty well.  
When you left, it was while I was at work. You left me a note telling me that you retrieved my bike, and that it was in my room against the dresser.  
Jay, the assassin extraordinaire, fetches people’s bicycles when they forget them.  
Even with your life and mind suppressed, you still manage to be caring. It’s amazing. I don’t know if I’d be as strong as you. Scratch that—I wouldn’t. You’re stronger than I could ever be, both physically and mentally. Emotionally, though, I think I might be on firmer ground.******


	24. -ENTRY TWELVE-

**It was very cold. Not temperature wise, but the atmosphere was. There wasn’t a single memory in you. It was all HYDRA. You only spoke to tell me that HYDRA wanted you to complete your last mission. I think you thought I was HYDRA. I guess I was, in a way.  
The next time I saw you, you were on TV, and your name wasn’t Jay or the Asset. It was James Buchannan Barnes. It was the Winter Soldier. It was a ghost.  
Then the calls started coming through. Family called and said not to talk to them anymore. Most of my friends left, but the ones that I can trust stayed. Colleagues became enemies and the media turned on me, too. At the time it was horrible, but now? Now, I’m thankful in an abstract way. Jay, I know you told them. It’s the only way they’d know about me. And because of you, a lot of shit happened. But because of you, I also found out that a lot of my life was fabricated. I was a toy in the hands of HYDRA, in the hands of my family and my friends, and in the hands of myself. If not for what happened, I never would have learned. I wouldn’t stayed too nice for my own good, too ambitious to see that my coworkers were killers. A lot of my personal flaws were addressed. A lot of the things I’d let myself got caught up in were detangled.  
Don’t feel bad, Jay. I owe my life to you in a weird way. I’m thankful, and while my choice of helping you did backfire in more ways than one, it was still my choice. Please, if you ever do read this, remember that. Remember that for over fifty years, you didn’t have a choice.  
You’re a man. You might not be the one from the forties, and you might not be the Winter Soldier anymore, but you are a man. HYDRA used you and shaped you into what they wanted, and what they wanted was a weapon in human skin. But you aren’t a weapon. You need to remember that.  
And I’ll remember for you.******


	25. |CHAPTER THIRTEEN|

Eve distinctly remembers falling asleep on the couch. That means Buchannan carried her to her bed. She smiles into the pillows; the man’s sweeter than he thinks he is. Most would have left her, maybe covered her with a blanket. He went the extra mile.

She scrolls through her contacts. The unsent message to one Sam Wilson glares at her. It’s been over a week, and she still hasn’t gotten the gumption to hit send.

She hasn’t been on a date in years, truthfully, and she doesn’t even know Sam well enough to start dating him. She guesses it could be like a trial. Eating dinner with him, Eve means. He seems nice enough, and he is handsome. Why not give it a shot?

That annoying voice chimes in. Because there’s a wanted criminal in your apartment, because he could be trying to get information, because you have enough to deal with without putting unnecessary romantic emotions into the mix. Because—

Eve hits send. Not even a minute later, she gets a reply.

Hey Sam, it’s Eve. You know, the lady you stalked for Captain America? I was wondering if you liked Korean food  
(Read, 6:43 AM)

Definitely, yeah! I can pick you up tonight if you’re okay with that. And it wasn’t stalking, it was a one-man search party ;)  
(Read, 6:44 AM)

Sure, come around at 4:30ish. The place I have in mind isn’t fancy, so don’t get dolled up  
(Read, 6:45 AM)

See you then  
(Read, 6:45 AM)

Eve hopes he won't judge her decision. Kim’s Cuisine isn’t the most charming of places, but the food is cheap and delicious. The cleanliness chart might be in the negatives, too, though Eve hasn’t gotten sick before, so how bad can it really be?

Pretty bad, actually. She usually eats in the car.

Buchannan is awake when she leaves the room. There’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table and he’s writing furiously, his tongue pushed past his lips in concentration. Eve smiles and tells him good morning, to which he mumbles the same back.

Eve decides against cooking, for once. Poptarts and Toaster Strudels sound like heaven right now. And pickles. Pickles sound great, too, but where there’s pickles there needs to be sandwiches, and sandwiches require tea, and Eve isn’t in the mood for such extravagance.

“Sleep well, Buchannan?” she asks as she gets out a plate. To her amusement, Buchannan goes pink at the usage of his middle name.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on the coffee mug he seems to have claimed as his own. He got upset when she used it a few days before. He’s not used to having things, so he latches on to what he can. Eve doesn’t mind. She does mind that he’s lying.

Pushing the hurt aside, she leans her forearms on the counter. “The bags under your eyes say otherwise.”

He shrugs. “I stayed up to read the rest of your entries.”

Eve lets it go. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Hopefully.

“Well, what’d you think? Did the spelling or lack thereof tick off your inner Grammar Nazi?”

Another shrug. Hm.

Eve pours the sugar packet onto her hot-n-ready mostly-artificial breakfast. Buchannan starts to talk, something Eve thinks is affection lacing his gruff tone.

“Thank you for remembering for me.”

She smiles at him, not missing the quick evasive maneuver his eyes do. He has no clue how to handle his emotions. That’s okay. People rarely do. “And thank you for kicking me off the couch.”

He smiles hesitantly. Eve practically beams while she eats her breakfast.

As she’s cleaning the dishes, Bucky watches her, that small grin still in place. After reading her entries, he’d sat there for at least an hour, mulling over the words she’d so carefully written. He wants to do something to thank her. What, though? Smiling made her happy—she’s nearly radiating sunlight as she sets her plate to dry.

She turns around and asks what he wants to do today. Bucky’s gaze flicks from her collarbone—the shirt she wears is too large, it hangs off her like a dress—to her bright smile. He can’t tell which feature of hers is more distracting.

“Dunno. Do you have plans?”

The smile wavers. He tenses in his seat. He’s about to ask if she’s okay when she answers his original question.

“The guy that showed up out of the blue, Sam Wilson? He asked me out, and he seems nice, so I said yes.”

Sam. Sam Wilson. The name tastes like vinegar. “The bird?”

“Bird? Oh, yeah, his superhero name is the Falcon. I’m hoping he’ll bring along his suit, I’d love to look at it.”

She’s purposefully keeping her voice light. Eve knows he’s not happy with her decision. Bucky swallows the sour feeling in his mouth.

“I ripped one of the wings off.”

“Oh.”

“I also threw him off of one of the Helicarriers.”

Eve starts to mutilate her hand again. Bucky quickly gets up and replaces the action with his hand. She raises her eyebrows, and Bucky wonders if he’s overstepped. He just knows that he hates it when she does that. Instead of pulling away, she gives his hand a squeeze.

“Sorry, bad habit.”

An idea pops into his head. “I’m going to train you with the knife before you leave.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“You’ll take it with you on your date.”

“Of course.”

“If Wilson tries anything—”

“He won’t, Buchannan,” she soothes, tapping his metal shoulder to get his attention. “Don’t worry. I’ll be completely safe, especially since you’d probably go James Bond on anyone who laid a finger on me.”

“James who?”

“I’ll show you those movies another time,” Eve says with a laugh. “Let my food sit, then we’ll train. Until then, I think we’re almost done with the Deathly Hallows.”

Buchannan sprawls on the couch. Eve has elected to lay on the coffee table, her legs and head dangling off the sides. He smiles into his fist as she reads aloud. Whenever Harry Potter speaks, she makes her voice fluctuate like he’s mid-puberty, and Ron sounds like he smokes two packs a day. For Hermione, however, she gives an impressive British accent.

Voldemort is his favorite voice. She deepens her voice as much as possible, gives up hallway through the Dark Lord’s dialogue, and ends up doing her impression of John Mulaney, who Eve says is a great comedian. Either way, she makes the end of the Harry Potter series even better than it originally would be.

He fetches his knife from the bag she gave him. While Eve changes into something work-out worthy, Bucky pulls his hair into a ponytail. He wishes he'd left it down, though, when Eve comes out wearing a tight tank top and overlarge gym shorts. He maintains strict eye contact. Looking anywhere other than her eyes would be inappropriate.

She rubs her hands together, smiling widely. "You ready to get your butt kicked?" she jokes.

Bucky gets into trainer mode, like he did with the red-haired ballerina. The woman that spilled HYDRA files to the public. Natalia, he remembers. He does decide to take it much easier on Eve, however, as she's smaller and isn't currently working for the KGB.

"Get into stance," he orders. She mock salutes and does as she's told. He nudges her feet apart a bit more before he feels comfortable enough to give her the knife. Immediately, she slashes at him, and Bucky has to jump back to avoid getting cut. He was going to snap at her. Then he realized that she already has a degree of experience with a knife. "Who taught you?"

"Adam was paranoid that I'd be jumped and raped, so he taught me a little self defense," she says. Bucky nods.

"Do that again, but slower."

She complies. Bucky grabs her wrist lightly and twists; the knife falls to the floor. He kicks it away.

"That's what they'd do, and you'd be defenseless. You need to do this..."

He takes the knife off the floor, echoes her earlier movement, but twists his torso away and drags the knife in a downwards motion.

Eve looks pale. "Buchannan, that would kill him."

"Better them dead than you," he points out. She doesn't argue, though the quick clench of her fists tells the ex-assassin that she wants to. "Do that slowly."

Bucky keeps her moving for an hour. He adds in steps and keeps her guessing when he'll change it up. By eight, he's satisfied with her improvement and lets her relax. While she downs some water, Bucky realizes that he only knows the obvious things about her. Eve's name, family, profession, stuff like that.

"What's you're favorite color?"

She sets the glass down. "Blue, but yellow and green are close seconds."

"Favorite animal?"

"I rescued a baby rabbit when I was eleven, hid it in my room for months before Mom and Dad noticed. Ever since, rabbits are my spirit animal."

"Favorite meal?"

"Geesh, that moves around way too often for me to make a definite. But you can guess what my favorite drink is."

There's a bright smile on her face. It makes her eyes glint like polished obsidian. Bucky smiles, too.

"Coffee."

"Correct," she says, laughing a bit after. "I kinda thought you'd say 'water' for a moment there. You know, to spite me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Would you dream of playing Uno?"

And that's how they ended up sitting on the floor, one against one, with cards held close to their chests. Eve underestimated his gaming skills. He's won five times, she's won five times, and this is the tie-breaker. The intensity with which they slap their cards down is characteristic for anyone in the Robertson family, or for anyone playing a Robertson, and Eve is more than happy to have a worthy opponent.

"Uno."

Bucky narrows his eyes. Then, with a smirk that the Devil himself would be wary of, he sets down a draw four. "Change it to blue."

She swears. The game commences.

Eve sees her opportunity. She keeps a poker face as she skips him, lays down a draw four, calls Uno, and finishes with a green three.

He curses angrily in Russian. Eve hasn't told him that she learned Russian somewhere around his fifth appearance. She'll get him back for calling her a 'cheating card-whore' later.

"Tis time for lunch," she says happily as she starts putting the deck away. "I'm thinking sandwiches, pickles, and tea."

"'S fine," he mumbles. Eve has to laugh.

"C'mon, Buchannan, you don't strike me as a sore loser."

"I never lose."

"Helicarriers."

"Technically, I won the fight with Steve."

"Technically, he fell to his would-have-been death." Eve pulls out the mayo, cheese, and an array of lunch meats. "Turkey, ham, or chicken?"

"Ham."

"Smoked or plain?"

"Smoked."

"Pickles, and if so, how many?"

"Two, please."

He leans against the counter. He's taken to wearing sleeveless shirts and tank tops inside, long sleeves and heavy coats outside. His metal arm catches the light. He's gotten buffer, and the arms no longer match in size. She'll need to re-plate his arm. A long, long process. And he'll get even bigger than he is now, and she'll have to plate his arm again and again because the man works out instead of sleeping.

Like she doesn't notice the late-night grunts and shuffling.

She wants to confront him about it. Instead, she sets his sandwich down. He thanks her for it; his manners seem to be coming back with every shard of broken-glass memories he finds.

As Eve makes her own sandwiches, her phone vibrates repeatedly. A call. She flicks it open and immediately freezes.

It's her mom.

She hits 'accept'.

"Mom?" she says quietly. She hears Buchannan stop chewing. "I thought you didn't want to talk to me."

"It's your daddy that doesn't want to talk to you. I don't care if you bomb East Asia, honey, you're my baby girl. He's asleep right now, and I needed to talk for at least a few minutes."

Eve continues making her sandwich. "How are you guys? Are you holding up?"

"I should be asking you that, baby."

"Seems I beat you to it."

"We're okay." A heavy pause. Then: "I miss you. Are you okay, though? Your dad pulled us out of your life at a bad time."

"Yeah, he did, but I'm doing well." Eve sits down next to Buchannan. He looks around, very unsure about where to look. She smiles at the kind gesture. He wants to respect her privacy. But in a house where the walls are as thin as this, that's basically a lost cause. "Remember Tony Stark? He hired me as an off-premises mechanic. I have to keep a low profile, but life's not bad. I've made a friend."

She smiles at Buchannan. He smiles back. It's a tiny lift on the corners of his mouth, but it's a smile all the same.

She talks with her mom for a few more minutes before they say their goodbyes. Eve feels a lot better, knowing her mom still loves her. Knowing her dad doesn't care, though--that stings.

"If she didn't want to let you go, why did she let your dad do that?"

Buchannan's question is quiet and entirely warranted, given the situation. Eve explains as best as she can.

"My family has a different dynamic. The man is the head of the house, and while his wife does get a say in things, his word is law. don't worry," she continues, a melancholy lilt to her words, "he wasn't overly controlling or anything like that. He was usually overseas, anyways, so Mom was more in control of us than him. It didn't sit well when he was home, but Adam and I tried not to give him any grief."

Buchannan makes a face. Before she can ask him what's wrong, he starts to laugh.

"You were named Adam and Eve," he says, eyes alight with humor. "Bible names."

"Yeah, Mom thought she was the smartest woman alive for that. But get this--Steve Rogers and Eve Robertson. No wonder you thought I was something to stick around for, our names are crazy similar. I mean, take of the 's' and the 't' from Steve's name and you have my first name. Thanks for never calling me 'Steve', though--oh!"

Buchannan watches Eve jump up and bounce on her toes, frantically typing into her phone.

Music starts playing. Bucky immediately remembers hearing it on the fourth or fifth time he went to Eve. He remembers trying not to bob his head along to the beat and failing rather miserably.

"'That's Not My Name' by The Ting Tings," she says excitedly. "Don't wanna be a loner," she sings, off-key and loudly, before she grabs Bucky's hands and tries to haul him to his feet.

He lets her drag him around. It's barely a dance, really, but Eve seems to enjoy it. She only stops to put on a different song. This time, Eve gets into it. 'You Give Love A Bad Name' starts off with a bang. Which is to say, Eve finger-guns an air bullet into Bucky's chest, cackles, and starts singing along to Bon Jovi like her life depends on it.

The next one gets a mixed reaction.

"This one is perfect for you," Eve promises. "'Every Breath You Take' by the Police."

Bucky doesn't know if he should laugh or be offended when the song starts. Eve hides her expression by washing the dishes, so Bucky can't make a decision based off her. He decides to be indifferent. He does snatch her phone before she can type in another song, though.

"No, no," he says, smirking at the miffed look she gives him. "My turn."

He plays 'I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire' by The Ink Spots.

For a moment, all action ceases. Eve's expression changes; Bucky can't tell in what way; it's almost blank, in a sense, but then a small, gentle smile worms its way onto her face. She sits on the counter and hums along. Bucky ends up remembering some of the lyrics and sings a few bits.

He gets an idea. He puts on another song, grabs Eve's hand, and starts to dance. He's more than a little clumsy, but he's still better than Steve ever was, and Eve catches on quickly. Unlike the erratic movements Eve does, Bucky actually swings.

First it was the Charleston, then it was the Foxtrot, then the Lindy Hop and the Cakewalk. By the time the Tap ends, both Eve and Bucky's feet hurt. Bucky realizes that, for the first time in decades, he actually had fun. The realization comes to him as he flops onto the couch, Eve's breathless laughter the only noise, other than their gasps.

And then he remembers the last time he danced. With those two gals--he can't remember their names--after they saw the flying car. They'd danced nearly all night. He was shipped off a day, maybe a week or two later. That one's fuzzy. He remembers Steve the clearest in that memory. Small, ragged from getting into and losing a fight, with the quiet fury of someone too small for the world to believe he can make a difference.

He looks over at Eve. Her eyes are closed; her forearm is on her forehead, her hair wild from all the activity. Her skin glints with sweat. He pokes her leg with his foot.

"You got a date," he reminds her. "It's almost five."

She swears and bolts to the shower.

She's ready maybe ten minutes later. Bucky almost asks why she isn't dressed fancy, but this is Eve. She likes dressing up, yeah, but he sees her as the cautious type when it comes to dating. She probably picked a quieter, quicker place to eat.

"I think it's just dinner, but in case it isn't, I'll call." She hobbles into a pair of shoes. "I'm bringing home leftovers, too, because I don't think I've made Korean food before."

There's a knock at the door. Bucky slips off and listens to Sam Wilson take Eve away, the click of the lock being his cue to move.

He stares at the door for a moment, frowning.

Bucky has sour taste in his mouth. He doesn't know why, exactly, but Bucky is aware enough to know he doesn't like the fact that Eve is going on a date, and that he's probably jealous.

He starts writing in his journal to keep his mind off of Eve.

~*~

"So, why don't you have a car or a motorcycle or something?"

Eve laughs a bit. "Too much pollution. Clean energy and all that. I misplaced my bike, though. I should probably invest in another."

"Probably," Sam agrees. "Thanks for giving me a shot, by the way. When I never heard back, I thought for sure you'd tossed the note."

"No, I just over think things and I ended up psyching myself out of giving the green light until now."

Sam drums on the steering wheel. "Yeah, my friend was the same way. And again, sorry about Steve. I did ask if he and Barnes were a thing, and he was quick to say no, which only makes my belief stronger."

I'll have to ask him that, then.

"Well, I'm not upset. I'd do the same if I were in his situation."

"Uh, is this the place?"

He parks. Eve grins.

"Don't judge a book by its cover."

~*~

"Oh my God, thish is the best," Sam groans.

Eve leans her head against the window, mouth full of food. Sam talks while he chews, anyways.

"Ish so good, like how'd I not know abow thish before?"

"Because the place looks more run down than a warehouse in Detroit," she says, amused. "I'm starting to think you like the food more than your date."

"Food always comes first," he jokes. "Speaking of, I really enjoyed this."

"Me, too. What's the catch?"

"The catch? Uh, look, I would much rather be your friend. I mean, you're beautiful and awesome, but I don't think it would work." He carefully studies her expression. "You aren't mad?"

"No, I was going to say the same. We should hang out again, though, this was fun."

"Cool. Anyways, we've eaten. Anything else you want to do?"

Eve shrugs. "Not really."

"Home it is, then."

They chat on the ride back. Eve wasn't lying when she said she wanted to hang out again; Sam really is amazing. He's funny, respectful, and Eve gets the feeling that a lot of friends got a bit distant when he started hanging around Captain America. Besides, she's psyched about his wings, and Sam is more than happy to share anything and everything about them.

"Thanks again, Sam," she says cheerfully. He tells her the same and drives off.

Inside, Buchannan is asleep. She tip-toes by him trips over a stray wrench, and falls with enough noise to wake up the neighbors.

"I'm fine," she says immediately after face-planting. "Go back to bed, Buchannan, I promise I'm okay."

He doesn't listen. He helps her up--even though she really doesn't need help--and makes her sit on the couch while he makes sure that Eve is unharmed. Once he's satisfied, he nearly folds his body in half to fit himself onto the couch. Eve bites back a laugh.

On her way to her room, she throws a blanket over him. He needs all the sleep he can get.

Eve falls asleep quickly. She wakes up maybe an hour later because Buchannan is doing a late-night workout.

This time, she decides to join him.

The first words out of his mouth once he sees her are, "Go back to sleep, Eve."

She ignores the more-or-less-command. "Stop the push ups, I wanna show you something."

"Eve--"

She kneels in front of the window, peels the blinds back enough for her to see, and waves Bucky over. "C'mere, Buchannan. Please."

He sighs. He joins her, anyways.

"That's Pegasus, which means that one right there is Pisces, and Aries is just to its side. Cassiopeia is the one that looks like a 'w'."

They spend the rest of the night and early morning by the window.

The nightmares and nighttime workouts aren't mentioned by either Bucky or Eve.

Eve falls asleep with her head on Bucky's shoulder and his arm around her waist, both laying on the floor. Bucky's nightmares seem a lot more bearable, knowing that Eve is right there if he has one, and sleep comes over him quicker than he'd expected it to.


	26. |CHAPTER FOURTEEN|

Bucky doesn't want to get up. He's been awake for maybe an hour and he has to pee, but the floor has never been comfier. Well, it isn't comfortable. Not really. But having Eve tucked into his side, her small body about as warm as a radiator set to the highest setting, is a luxury he doesn't want to leave.

He focuses on the steep, short slope of her nose. The drool on his shoulder. The light breaths against his neck. Anything but the fact that his bladder is full to the point of bursting. It doesn't help at all that her arms and legs are messily wrapped around him. Her knee is resting right on abdomen, her other leg slotted between his; one arm is pressed against his side and the other one drapes across his chest. He smiles, closing his eyes for a moment.

This is nice.

The phone goes off.

Eve shoots straight up, snatches her phone off the coffee table, and groggily asks who it is. Bucky leaves for the bathroom. Disappointment settles in the back of his throat like half-chewed steak.

Did someone really have to call? Could they not have waited a little while longer?

His reflection looks downright pitiful, if Bucky is being honest. He almost laughs darkly at the thought of what HYDRA would do if they saw them now. Their asset sleeping next to a potentially dangerous ex-target. The thought sends him gripping the sink. The porcelain cracks.

It won't happen, he tells himself. Eve is safe. She's safe. HYDRA is in shambles. I won't get hurt for any of this, neither of us will.

Eve knocks on the door. Her voice tired, rushed. "I forgot that I have to meet with Kurt today to see if there's been any progress. I threw on some clothes and I have the knife, so don't worry. I'll be back in three hours because he's craving the deli's bologna sandwiches and that's a thirty minute walk."

Bucky opens the door. She wasn't lying when she said that she threw on some clothes; she pulled on one of his long-sleeved shirts and a pair of her leggings, threw her hair into a rough bun, and is now bouncing on her heels. She's nervous, and not because of the forgotten meet-up.

"I couldn't move you this time," he says quietly.

"That's okay."

"You aren't okay."

"I hate being late, that's all."

He ignores the lie. He opens his mouth with the intention of telling Eve that he's coming, too, only for something else to fall off his lips. "My shirt looks good on you."

Even though she's obviously flustered, she keeps her words calm and light. "I look even better in flannel. I'll be back soon, okay?"

His thoughts about HYDRA come back with a vengeance. Apprehension weighs on his shoulders, heavier than even Atlas's burdens.

"I'm coming with you."

She smiles. "I'm counting on it. But hurry up, I don't want to much of a head start."

~*~

Eve has always had a thing with big clothes. She wore her dad's, her brother's, her friend's. Wearing Buchannan's shirt is a bit different, though. She never had that air-pockets-in-my-chest feeling when she put on anyone else's clothes, but Buchannan seems to be different.

Why am I feeding into this? she wonders as she walks down the street. Attraction is one thing, but this? C'mon, Eve, get a grip. Actually, don't. This shirt is super comfy. But really, I need to draw the line somewhere. Wearing his clothes? Sure, not a horrible offense. Sleeping next to him, though? What was I thinking?

The small voice sniggers in her mind. Buchannan and Eve sitting in a tree, it sings.

"Hey there, sweet-cheeks!"

Oh, not them again.

The group is smaller this time around. About three are gone, but there's still enough left to pose a threat. Eve keeps her pace steady. She walks past them, noting with hesitant fear that they seem to be bolder this morning. They jeer per usual, but there's something different this time. There's something darker.

Eve doesn't make it a but a few more steps before a hand grabs her wrist.

"C'mon, pretty lady, where are you going?"

Not yet, Buchannan, please don't come out yet. "I don't recall that being your business, sir," she says calmly. Inside, her heart races like a startled hare. "Let go of me."

"Let go? Now why on Earth would I do that? Oh!" He grins widely, pulling Eve's wrist--and her whole body--towards him. "Is it because of your Soldier? Is he at home reading Harry Potter? Writing in one of those journals you bought him? Or maybe he's playing the loyal watchdog? Hm, baby? Which is it?"

Buchannan. Oh, God, Buchannan.

They know.

"I think she's scared," one of his friends comments. "Why don't we step aside for a moment, talk it out?"

Eve stares up at the man currently holding her. She sets her jaw.

Fight, flight, or freeze.

She's done with freezing.

She headbutts him and knees him straight between the legs. The moment his grip loosens, she takes the knife out of the waistband of her jeans, and jerks the handle upwards.

One thing Buchannan failed to mention about killing someone this way happens to be the obvious. It's not clean.

She catches a glimpse of his intestines spilling out before flight, flight, or freeze kicks back in and she's booking it back for home. She doesn't even make a block before she feels Buchannan slam into her, his metal arm cold and tight on her upper arm.

"C'mon," he grunts, beginning to pull her down an alley.

He doesn't move quick enough.

Bucky sees one of their pursuers come to his senses and stop, gun aloft. Just as he turns to shield Eve, her body lurches, and the most terrible of shrieks leaves her lungs.

In an instant, Bucky stops thinking. In an instant, Bucky is acting in blind fury.

The agent that shot Eve gets a bullet between his eyes. The other three drop or take cover; a car swerves off the road and crashes into a lamp post, showering them with sparks.

Bucky drops to his knees beside Eve. Eve is pale, gasping for breath. Her hands clasp at her abdomen. Blood seeps through her fingers. There's no panic in her expression, just surprise and agony, and her eyes are unfocused. She's going into shock.

He scoops her up, cringing at the horrible, painful noises she makes, and takes off. The route is erratic. Down one alley, short cut through another, down the street and through a parking garage. Then he swerves, taking them in the direction she was travelling originally.

She has someone waiting for her at the deli. And Bucky did his research on Kurt—he knows that deli is five minutes from the apartment complex he and his friends rented for two months.

Bucky doesn't risk climbing the outside stairwell. He goes up the elevator, his mind whirling and his body tense, until he reaches the second floor. He knocks once. The moment the door swings open, Bucky is shouldering his way inside.

The idiots are mindlessly freaking out behind him, but Bucky has more important things to worry about. He sets Eve down on the couch. He peels her shirt up, whispering apologies relentlessly as she writhes in pain and chokes out a sob. He hears himself apologizing over and over, but somehow it doesn't feel like he's saying anything at all.

He runs his fingers along her back, searching carefully for an exit hole. He finds none. The bullet is still inside her. He'll need to go digging for it.

Bucky quickly undoes his belt. She'll need something to bite down on. He needs tweezers, towels, and alcohol.

He glares at the two criminals. The moment they notice he's looking at them, they shut up. Color drains from their faces.

"Get towels and tweezers." One of them—the talkative Mexican man—scurries off. The other one trembles in his shoes. "Do you have hydrogen peroxide?"

"No," he squeaks.

"Whiskey?"

"Yes?"

"Get it."

He runs to the cabinet. Bucky turns his attention back to Eve. She's slowly fading. Panic seeps into Bucky's bones; he cups her face with one hand and applies pressure to her stomach with the other.

"Keep lookin' at me, Eve, you need to stay awake."

She whimpers. Bucky wants to yell for the criminals to hurry up, but they just left to get the items he asked for, so he forces himself to stay as soothing as possible. For Eve.

The second guy, Dave, curses when he comes back with the bottle. Luis is, for once, silent. Bucky doesn't trust either to help Eve. He'll do this himself.

It's his fault.

Bucky puts the belt in Eve's mouth, grabs the tweezers with his real hand, and holds her down with the metal one. He doesn't give himself time to brace himself for her pain. He puts the tweezers in the entry hole.

She passes out after maybe a minute. In another, the bullet is out and the alcohol is poured over the wound. Then Bucky presses the towels against her and carefully wipes the tears off her face. They glisten on his metal fingers. Bucky gives himself one brief moment to collect himself. Just one moment.

"Is she dead?" Bucky glowers at Luis. He nods profusely. "No, man, bad question. Is she going to die? Wait, Dave, is that worse?"

Dave nods. "Yeah, that's worse."

"Ah, man. Y'know, my family got deported yesterday--"

Bucky's glare doesn't falter. Luis shuts up.

"Get bandages," he says coldly.

Luis gets bandages. Bucky tells him to hold Eve up, which Dave does instead, while he wraps Eve's wound. She groans in her sleep, twisting to move away from the pain. Bucky covers her with a blanket while he cleans the blood off of him.

The door opens. Closes. Kurt asks what happens, alarm clear in his heavy accent.

Bucky leans against the doorframe, drying his hands off. His tone remains dark. "She got shot. You have information on HYDRA. Show me."

"I show Eve," he protests. Bucky narrows his eyes. "I show you as well."

They sit by the table. Kurt starts talking as soon as he opens his computer.

"I followed the trail of another user who we call Douchebag," he explains, dragging the mouse to a document. "He is better than me and left enough breadcrumbs for me to flag him. This document has information on you."

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. The information is pretty widespread. It only has to do with the Winter Soldier, though. Primarily his assassinations and one—

His heart thumps to a halt, then pumps into overdrive.

Serum acquired. December 16, 1991.

December 16, 1991.

"Howard?"

"Sergeant Barnes?"

His head slams against the wheel. Maria sobs—her desperate breathing follows, the only sound on the still road.

"I was able to block him from searching more," Kurt chatters happily. "I—“

"Destroy it."

"What?"

Bucky steps away from the table, towards Eve. His hand grazes her shoulder. The slight brush of skin grounds him, tears him away from an episode he'd regret. His breathing is labored, though, and no amount of deep breaths can help.

"I said destroy it."

"I worked—"

"I don't care how long you worked," he snarls. The three amigos shrink into each other. "Get rid of it. Eve will never know about it, do you understand?"

"Okay," Dave says, raising his hands in a 'please-don't-kill-us-all' motion. "Okay, big guy, done deal. Put the gun down. Please."

He blinks, startled. Sure enough, his free hand is holding the gun in a deathly-tight grip. It clatters to the floor. Bucky kicks it away, heart pounding.

He sits on the floor, keeping some sort of contact with Eve. He alternates between watching the three terrified men and Eve. Every time his gaze lands on Eve, however, his stare lingers. Then it darts back to the possible threats.

She can't know. She can't know about Howard and Maria Stark's deaths, about the other assets, about the words. She can't know about him.

God, if she knew—

Eve stirs. Bucky is quick to straighten his back and let go of her hand. He doesn't like not holding her hand, but he doesn't want to risk her being upset and out of it. She squints at him, mouth ajar, and mumbles, "'M late."

"Kurt got held up, too," he says gently. But she's already gone, drooling into oblivion, and Bucky is left to take her hand again.

There's blood on her hands. Metaphorically and literally.

"Get a wet rag," he mutters. Someone wordlessly walks off and returns a few moments later. Bucky wipes her hands clean and tends to the area around the bandages, avoiding getting the bandages wet. Re-dressing it will be a pain, especially since she lacks any superhuman ability to speed the healing process.

He sits vigil with nothing but his thoughts as company and by God, does he wish he doesn't even have those. It doesn't matter either way. By the time morning comes and the three criminals are awake, Bucky and Eve are gone.

His destination is Sokovia. A small, third-world country that gets little recognition.

It takes all of five minutes to hotwire a car and start the three hour drive. One stop for gas. Eve slips in and out the entire ride, grunting whenever Bucky hits a rough spot in the road.

Sokovia arrives around midday. Bucky scopes the area, ditches the car a few miles out, and quickly takes Eve to one of the cheap, rundown motels. They let him in with little interest.

He glances at Eve, her head resting on his backpack.

Two days. Two days until they need to move again.

Those two days pass by with an agonizing slowness. Eve starts running a fever within the first day, breaks it overnight, and continues coming in and out of consciousness. The bullet didn't hit anything important, somehow, and Bucky can only thank God for that.

Bucky makes several trips for supplies. He never wants to leave her. Each time, he's terrified that something will happen, that he'll come back to a corpse. Logic says he won't, but the fear doesn't leave because reason makes itself known. No, Bucky's terrified, and no amount of soothing facts will change that.

He almost lost Eve. Her death, like so many others, would be on his hands. Not that HYDRA agent's hands, his.

On the bright side, Bucky is somewhat amused with the not-quite-there conversations Eve starts. They range from random to surprisingly lucid to downright laughable. As she starts to really recover, though, the conversations take a turn. She starts becoming coherent. And then the stitches he'd so carefully sown rip. All because a storm hit and the boom of thunder shocked her awake.

Bucky gently combs her hair back from her face on their final night there. Her head rests on his lap; she shivers horribly. He whispers to her that he’s sorry, that she’s safe, that she’ll be okay, and for her to please come back. He feels so horrible for causing her pain, but he had to stitch the wound closed again, or she would have bled out. Her groaning and muffled screams haunt him. He hopes she won’t remember that.

Putting her shirt back on would have torn the stitches, so Bucky laid his jacket over top of her. He’s guilty about that, too. Taking her shirt off. He had to, he knows that, but it still feels like he crossed a boundary that should’ve been uncrossed.

She shifts, grunting in pain, and Bucky carefully holds her still. “You gotta rest so you can get better.”

“’S dark,” she mutters. “’S very dark.”

“Yeah, it is.” Sokovia doesn't have much electricity, due to its poverty. This motel is much the same.

“Are you ‘kay?”

“I’m okay.” Bucky pushes the hair out of her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “Try and sleep for me.”

“I think I got shot, Jay.”

Despite the situation, he smiles down at her with a tenderness he didn’t know he had. “You did, that’s why you need to rest up, so you can heal and get better and beat me at Monopoly.”

“Monopoly?”

“Mm. Monopoly. I saw it on your shelf and we never got to play it."

"I used 'ta hate Monopoly," she mumbles. She squints up at him; Bucky feels his heart skip a beat.

High on the adrenaline from the pain, a little worse for wear, and she somehow manages to give the ex-assassin butterflies. Butterflies, of all things.

Bucky pushes the thought far, far away. It's not butterflies. It's the motion of the boat. He's apprehensive about Eve's health. He doesn't care for Eve more than he should.

"You did?"

"Momma was a beast. She... was'n pulling her fists."

Pulling her... oh. She means punches. "Your mom sounds a bit like Steve used to be."

"Mister Rogers issa saint," she argues, her voice thick. "Issa big 'ol saint."

Bucky bites back a laugh. "Mhm. Now, try and rest, okay?"

"Can we talk some more?"

"I gotta sleep, too."

"You don' sleep."

"Yes, I do—"

Eve seems entirely too lucid right now. The bleariness has abated from her expression, and while her words are still a bit slow, Bucky knows that what she's saying has been running around her head for a while. She's just to nice to say it when she's not half-high on endorphins and sleepiness.

"You get the nightmares and you stay awake, but it doesn't help. I'm stayin' watch tonight so you can rest."

He knows better than to argue. He leans back, eyes open, and listens to the ambiance. Eve's even breathing, changing only when she starts to drift off, and the storm outside.


	27. |CHAPTER FIFTEEN|

"J.A.R.V.I.S., run decryption."

"I have been asked not to by Miss Robertson, sir."

Tony Stark glares up at the ceiling. The office is dark and quiet, save for the billionaire's harsh voice. "I'm sorry, who's your boss? Run decryption and put everything on the big screen. Translate all text into English, I don't feel like translating German and Russian all evening."

"I advise against—"

"J.A.R.V., I'm seconds away from programming you into a microwave and a microwave only. Eve is gone, Barnes is with her yet again, Steve is pissed at me and Wilson, and I am in no mood for favoritism. It's not even in your coding, so what's with that?"

"I am fond of Miss Robertson."

"What, did she promise you a robot girlfriend?"

"A good request, but no, sir."

Tony props his chin on his fist. The files on Eve's laptop hang on the screen, the digital text changing into English. J.A.R.V.I.S. autocorrects the translation errors and, once finished hacking into Stark Technology, tells Tony that the decryption is finished.

"Great, let's get some smooth jazz and popcorn," Tony jokes, waving a hand to start scrolling.

And the it disappears. A message pops onto the screen, bright red and flashing. There's a picture of a smiley face on it.

YOU HAVE BEEN HACKED  
WELCOME TO HELL

"J.A.R.V.I.S., what—“

Justin Bieber begins blaring at full volume. Tony covers his ears.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., counterattack the malware and trace it," he shouts. "And make the prepubescent Canadian pop idol shut up."

"Immediately, sir."

~*~

Eve is very glad that Buchannan doesn't mention her delirium. She remembers getting shot, moving around a bit, and then it gets hazy. She kind of remembers Monopoly, but other than that she's doesn't recall much. It's for the best. Still, Buchannan is more tense than he was as the Winter Soldier and he's twice as non-verbal now.

She didn't do anything wrong that she knows of. He has to be guilty about everything that happened. The fight probably brought back some unpleasant memories. He's been basically alone for, what, over a week now? He has every right to be like this.

It doesn't take away Eve's worry.

Buchannan is used to this sort of thing. Being on the run, she means. He's been in situations like this before. He can handle the silence, the boredom, the constant apprehension. He takes it all in stride. Or, well, in sit as of right now. He's currently pouring over a map of Sko—Soka—well, whatever country they're currently in. Eve's never heard of it.

Eve is not used to this. She wants to move. Her hands are torn up, she knows, and she's taken to tapping on any nearby surface. Lyrics, melodies, speeches. Anything and everything is tapped.

Eve wants to scream.

She can't handle it anymore.

"Buchannan?" she says softly. She hears his head move. "We're okay."

Silence. A shuffle, then footsteps. Buchannan sits down beside her. It's an unspoken gesture of comfort. Eve doesn't know if it's meant for her or for him. Either way, she leans her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

"Do you know Bohemian Rhapsody?" Again, nothing. "I'm going to teach you it," she decides, "without music or written down lyrics. We've got this. It starts like this..."

Eve sings the intro, her hoarse voice cracking in all the wrong places. She waits a moment to see if Buchannan will join in. When he doesn't, she hums the rest. Eve knows she's smiling when Buchannan tentatively rests his metal hand on her wrist. He might not be talking, but that's okay. This is enough.

The rest of the week is spent similarly. They hotwire a car and find a hotel a few miles away, nearer to the poor district than before. This time, they stay for a week.

Buchannan will leave every few days and come back with water and food. Eve will quietly sing along to whatever songs pop into her head; it's a good way to stave off the boredom. Then they'll curl up next to each other to sleep. 

It's as they're trying to fall asleep, the night before they need to leave again, that Eve finally processes what happened.

She thinks she stops breathing for a moment. Bile rises up her throat, but she swallows it down.

I killed a man.

Buchannan rolls over. The lumpy mattress creaks.

I… I killed someone. I got shot, might have even been shot dead. I'm either a criminal or a hostage in the eyes of the media.

His hand rests lightly on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asks, gruff-toned. Eve knows his question is sincere, but her mind is stuck.

She doesn't bother forcing a lie or a smile; he'd see right through her, anyways.

"It just hit me that I murdered someone."

Buchannan sighs heavily. "It was you or him."

"Who am I to decide that?" Eve whispers.

After a brief moment, Buchannan pulls Eve into a hug. She melts into it—how could she not? He holds her close, but grip firm enough to make sure she knows he's there and loose enough so that she won't feel suffocated. Buchannan smells horrible, but she doesn't flinch. They both stink. They'll need new clothes and a good wash before they try and disguise themselves again.

"Thank you," she says quietly, "for everything."

He lets her go.

~*~

"I didn't know, Steve—“

"You took her on a date! How did you not know?"

"One date, man, and it didn't even go anywhere," Sam Wilson argues. He's trying to keep his cool, he really is, but the six-foot-American-Dream is currently making that very hard. "She said no one was there, I believed her. My fault, okay? The surveillance came back clear and I had no reason to believe otherwise. I know you're upset, Steve, but don't go taking it out on me or anyone else."

Steve visibly deflates. The anguish in his expression might not make Hitler sad, but it does make Sam sad.

"Look, Cap, we'll find Barnes."

"Will it even be him, though?" Steve asks, voice low and shaky. "I'm not the same guy from the forties and neither is he. What if... what if—"

"Uh-uh. Don't even go there. What happened to the determination? You were all, 'He will know me,' and know you're letting a setback get you down?"

Steve runs a hand over his face. "I'm trying, Sam."

"I know. I'm saying, take a break. I'll keep looking. Anything at all comes up and you'll be the first to know. Besides, isn't there that party Tony was planning coming up?"

"Yeah, it's in a month or so. We have some missions."

"Go on those," Sam instructs kindly. "Distract yourself. Take out your frustration on some actual bad guys instead of your friends."

"Thank you, Sam."

"No problem, man, that's what friends are for."

~*~

Bucky doesn't want to talk. Eve is trying in her quiet way to get word out of him, and from time to time he caves. He lets himself talk, but he never talks about what's wrong with him. That list is too long to get into. Hell, it's getting longer.

First, there's the wrestle with his mind. The memories, the torture, the Winter Soldier, the sergeant from the forties. There's everything lodged in his mind like shrapnel from an explosion. It's wedged in odd places, never quite together, but always relatively close by. Sometimes, he can fit the warped metal together. Other times, he can't.

His situation is second. He's running from HYDRA, from multiple government agencies. He's a recovering amnesiac. An ex-assassin with PTSD and words that will make him revert. 

Next, his emotions. His feelings. Whatever the hell is going on with Eve. Because if it was solely physical attraction at first—which it might have been, she is attractive—it isn't just that anymore. Sure, she's gorgeous. Stunning, even. Her personality and mind and body make her one of the most beautiful people he's met. But it can't be anything more than friendship, right? Does he want it to be more?

He glances at Eve in the passenger seat, humming along to the song on the radio. She's wearing one of his button-ups and a pair of ratty shorts. Her feet are on the dash. The sun lights up her eyes, turning them from coal to amber.

Bucky swallows. He turns his attention back to the road.

Yes, he does.

"How're you feeling?" he asks. His voice is a little rough around the edges, so he clears his throat. "Are you in pain?"

She chuckles. "Oh, yeah, but I'm a big girl. I get shot? Give me some Cool-Aid and I'm good to go. Stabbed? I eat knives for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Poison? Built up an immunity so I could munch on some frogs."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Like, fully? No clue. I've been getting bits and pieces. And you, Buchannan?"

He grips the wheel a bit tighter. It's not that he doesn't like it when she calls him Buchannan, it's just... he doesn't even know. "I can go longer without it."

"The serum would actually require more nutrition and sleep than an average person," she informs. Her fingers rest lightly on his forearm, an unspoken request to let her hold his hand. He complies. He hopes she won't be discreet like he was and take his heartrate. He still can't forget how fast her pulse was. "Let me drive for a bit. Take a nap, snack a bit, drink without looking over your shoulder."

They stop at the light. Bucky presses his lips into a thin line.

"Fine."

He wonders if Eve knows how much he'd do for her.

From the way she smiles at him, like he's a victory instead of a criminal, she has no clue.


	28. |CHAPTER SIXTEEN|

There's a few days left before the Avengers ship out. Steve is worried that he's pissed Tony off; the billionaire has barely left his lab since Eve Robertson went off the map with his old war buddy, and yes, Steve knows he took out his emotions on lots of people. It was unfair. Apologizing is still hard.

It has to be done, though.

As he nears the lab, he hears something that sets off red flags in his mind. Pop music. Loud pop music. Tony likes classic rock, not... this.

"Tony?" Steve knocks on the door. No answer. He tries again, almost shouting over the music. "Tony, it's Steve, we need to talk."

The door opens. Tony's eyes are bloodshot.

"I am five minutes from freeing myself, Rogers, wait five damn minutes."

He shuts the door. Steve is thoroughly bewildered. He waits, anyways.

And the music stops. From inside, Tony begins shouting in victory. The Star Spangled Man rubs the back of his neck. What... what's happening?

"Come on in, Cap," Tony yells. "I've got stuff to show you, kind of."

Steve walks into the lab. It's in disarray. Old scotch bottles and take-out containers litter the floor. Steve carefully steps over them.

"I wanted to apologize—"

"And as amazing and unexpected as that is, we have more pressing matters to attend to. Eve got into HYDRA files and started decoding them."

"What?"

"Yep. I didn't think she was that good, but she is, and I was an idiot and gave her Stark Tech. She set up a digital trap and it's taken me almost two weeks to get out of it. Thankfully, I'm a genius, so I got out of it and J.A.R.V.I.S. managed to recover some of her info. Most was destroyed once she loosed the virus, but some was recoverable. The music took longer to get rid of, and I swear, if I ever hear Justin Bieber again I will shoot someone."

Tony blows up an image. Steve stands beside him, a little breathless once he realizes that it's a video.

"The videos are what remained mostly intact," Tony informs. "There aren't many, though. You can barely see through all the pixels. I watched a few minutes before I stopped."

"Play it."

"You sure? A few minutes in and I was pretty disturbed, and that's hard to accomplish when you've almost died several times and have survived many weird things."

"Please, Tony."

The genius sighs.

"Okay."

The video rolls. The Winter Soldier—not Sergeant James Buchannan "Bucky" Barnes—sits in a metal chair. There's an IV in his arm and ghosts in his eyes. Scientists mill around him, unconcerned by the heavily armed guards encircling the room.

There's no audio, just grainy images. Someone takes the IV out of his arm. The Soldier looks menacing with his long, shaggy hair and blank blue eyes. He's shirtless, muscled, and there's a fine layer of sweat on his skin. His metal arm catches in the artificial life. His mouth is open slightly, caught between a word and thought.

The video flickers. Another takes its place. This one is a little clearer. Instead of a chair, he's sparring. His opponent is just as ruthless as he, but in a real fight there would be no match. The Soldier is measuring his strength, reining it in, and the next video explains why.

A baton comes down on his back. The Winter Soldier doesn't cry out; his jaw sets, and he ducks his head, but he doesn't cry out. At his side, broken and bloodied on the ground, is the man he was training with earlier. He stopped holding back. The baton comes down again. The video ends with the Winter Soldier being escorted out of the room. A few moments later, God-awful screams tear apart the flimsy audio.

The next is taken from a street camera. The Winter Soldier never appears in it. His target drops with a bullet between his eyes. There's a flash of silver in the upper left corner of the feed. A ghost molds back into shadow.

Steve clears his throat. "Is there anything else?"

"No, any files or things of actual importance were stripped and trashed. This is all that's left, other than a prototype for a new shield for you and an extra-precision arrow for Clint."

Tony sounds a bit rattled. Neither comment.

"Can you keep digging?"

"Steve, I've been digging for almost a day now. This is it. Anyways, we need to prepare for the mission. It's in, what, six days? Five?"

"Six."

"My point exactly. Oh, and apology accepted. Just don't be a dick in he future, it doesn't suit you. Righteous man and all that."

Back to normal. They have a mission to prepare for.

~*~

There are few instances in which Eve is truly terrified. This is one of them.

An army of robots are fighting the Avengers. Sokovia is high in the sky and still rising. She doesn't have a weapon; neither does Buchannan. They're hiding behind trash bins, pressed against each other, and Eve is terrified. She doesn't really remember what they'd been doing before this.

Fear and death have the strangest effect on humans. The knowledge that time is short kicks in. It drives the breath from your lungs with the realization. It forces everything you've been keeping inside out, so that when you do leave the Earth, your mind will be settled enough for you to move on.

Eve is very much human, and if this is it, she won't die with words left unsaid.

"Buchannan," she says into his ear, gripping his metal hand tight, "if we die, I want you to know that you mean a lot to me."

His grip tightens on her hand. "We aren't dying."

"We might."

"We won't."

There's such finality in those to words. 'We won't.' He says them like a promise, like a fact, and Eve closes her eyes tight.

She doesn't believe that.

So, she says it again.

"You mean a lot to me."

Eve isn't sure if she feels it or not, but she swears that she feels his mouth brush a barely-there kiss against her forehead. Eve isn't sure if he feels her pulse jump, or if he hears her shaky exhale. She does know that what happens next is a blur.

They run. They make it onto a Helicarrier. Eve, small and thin, curls around him. There's former S.H.I.E.L.D. employees everywhere. The Avengers are lounging around somewhere, too. She hides him as good as she can, even if it means sitting in his lap and cradling his head into her shoulder.

He holds her tight. Neither are crying, but Eve fakes a sob every once on a while so that they'll be left alone. She has trouble focusing on her surroundings, however, because Buchannan's breath is on her skin, and his arms are wrapped around her waist. It's very distracting. It's even more so with the knowledge that he's whispering, "I told you we wouldn't die," like the asshole ex-assassin that he is.

His voice is unfairly scratchy. She grits her teeth. She's not really annoyed. Quite the opposite, actually.

Finally, they land. Buchannan and Eve slip off unnoticed. Then they get on the nearest train to Bucharest.

"It's a big city," Buchannan explains quietly. He's yet to let go of her hand. Maybe Eve is the one who hasn't let go. "Better to hide in."

"We're getting a pan if we're staying there," she mutters, somehow only able to think of one other thing than Buchannan, and that would be the culinary disappointments of Sokovia's kitchens. Or lack thereof, really.

Buchannan laughs, short and light. "'Course."

And they do. They find an apartment complex with an old, dirty room. They don't bother cleaning when they get there. Both are exhausted, and neither ask to sleep together on the mattress. It's familiar, now. To sleep any other way wouldn't feel quite right.

The next couple days are slow. They clean, they plaster newspaper over the window. Bucky fetches some cooking supplies from a sale down the road. Eve insists that he let her cook, and he caves the moment she looks up at him and says, "Please, Buchannan?"

He makes sure she takes it easy, though. Anything less would be wrong. Especially after Sokovia, and all the shit that went down there.

"You mean a lot to me."

That one sentence would, at random times, knock Bucky's concentration away. He'd be getting groceries and it would strike him across the face, all breathless and determined and unmentioned since it was first said.

"You mean a lot to me."

Bucky wonders if Eve remembers saying that, four days after they made it to Bucharest. He wonders if she'd noticed or just not mentioned him kissing her forehead. He wonders if she felt the same as he does, or if he's just looking into things.

See, Bucky remembers nearly everything, now. Some things blur together or don't fit into whatever rough timeline he's pieced into being, but most of his memories are back. He remembers multiple dates and gals he'd taken out; none had lasted too long, though. He thinks he used to feel like he does with Eve about one of them. Her name started with a 'D', right? Danielle? Darcy? No, that's not right.

"Whatcha thinking about, Buchannan?"

There's that name again. The ex-assassin tamps down the tightness in his throat. "Nothing. Are you okay?"

He asks this for a reason. She looks embarrassed, and Eve rarely is embarrassed about anything. In fact, when she responds, she scratches the back of her neck in a not-at-all distracting manner.

"Uh, I have a weird question that you don't have to answer, but I think not answering answers it."

Bucky raises his eyebrows and turns so he can face her better. The kitchen counter digs into his lower back. "Ask away."

"Did you and Steve used to be a thing?" she asks, avoiding his gaze.

He's dumbstruck for a solid thirty-two seconds. Then, he dissolves into the most earnest laughter since the forties.

"Where the hell did that come from?" he manages to force out. "Me and Steve? Really?"

She looks downright uncomfortable now, and with being uncomfortable comes a defensive tone. Bucky smiles all the wider.

"It's an honest question! Besides, can you blame me for asking? The research I did kinda makes it look like you weren't just childhood bestfriends."

Bucky shakes his head to rid himself of whatever chuckles he has left. "No, Eve, we never were involved," he informs, unable to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. "What a thought, though, me and Steve. Do you really think that we were—"

"I'm stopping this conversation," Eve huffs. Despite sounding annoyed, she's smiling.

Bucky watches, his own smile softening into something much different as Eve starts to flip the pancakes. They'd gotten a pan, just like she'd wanted, and they'd even started making the apartment their own. Some old magazines and cinderblocks made a bookshelf. The mattress on the floor, complete with saggy sleeping bad, was their bed. A pitcher of cooking supplies is by the stove. It's small, it's ragged, but it's theirs, and that's what matters.

As she starts to stack the pancakes, she talks. "Your arms aren't equally sized anymore. I want to fix that."

"How would you? Everything's back in Amsterdam," he points out ever so helpfully.

"Junkyards, car shops. I clean up whatever scraps I can and add them in. I won't need many, honestly, because the plates on your arm can be reused after they get a touch up." She forks some of the breakfast food into her mouth. Bucky rolls his eyes at the obnoxious chewing; he also does this to hide the warmth on his cheeks. Her eyes get so bright and her nose scrunches up when she's excited. It's adorable. "I could paint over the star, if you wanted."

He hesitates. Then: "No."

It's the most conversation they've had in a long time. Bucky doesn't want Eve to think she ruined it, but he also doesn't want to talk about his arm.

They were having a good time. Why bring it up?

His breath catches as Eve walks over. Her hand, warm and small, rests on his shoulder, where metal meets skin. She traces the ugly scar so, so tenderly. Her expression is different than her touch. It's sad, something pleading. Another contrast is her voice. It's stern, nothing like the gentleness of her fingers as they trail along the scar tissue.

"It's a part of you, you know," she says. Her free hand cups his face. "It's just as important as the rest of you. You need to take care of it like you would everything else."

He doesn't argue. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't. Not when Eve is so close, looking at him like this, touching and talking to him in a way he didn't even experience before the war and the death. He whispers the only thing he can think of.

"Why do you... how do you think like this?"

And she answers just as honestly as she's always been.

"Because you mean a lot to me, Buchannan, and I'll always remember for you."


	29. |CHAPTER SEVENTEEN|

"Buchannan! Buchannan, look!"

He looks up upon hearing Eve's excited voice. He almost rolls his eyes when he sees the basket of metal parts in her arms. Almost. The only reason he refrains is because of the sheer, unrestricted happiness on Eve's face.

"Spare parts."

"Not just any," she says proudly. She sets the basket carefully on the makeshift bookshelf. "Clean spare parts and tools to shape 'em up a bit. I nicked a blowtorch, too! I can warp the metal enough to fit the curve of your bicep because believe it or not, that's the hardest part to fit other than your hand. Oh! And look what else I got!"

She holds up a wad of cash. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

"You stole money."

"No, I didn't steal. Someone happened to drop their wallet, I took the money out as compensation, and I turned the rest in to the police in a discreet manner."

"What kind of discreet manner?"

She makes her way to the counter, which she vaults onto. Bucky doesn't understand why she likes being high up. He hates heights, personally, and being so short must make everything seem far from the ground.

"Some guy was getting arrested. I just dropped the wallet conveniently in the backseat."

"Criminal."

"I'm no such thing."

"Felon," Bucky says, unable to keep his face straight at Eve's unfairly bright smile.

"Okay, Mr. I've-Never-Committed-A-Crime, sit down. I want to start on your arm."

"How long will it take?"

She shrugs. "A week, maybe. I'll need to leave a lot to make sure we can pay rent, though. The garage on the corner doesn't mess around with their hours, much less when they have someone who doesn't talk back." She says the last part bitterly. "The moment we have to move again, Buchannan, I'm wiping the floor of that place with whatever semblance of pride they have. Absolute assholes."

"Find another place to work."

Eve rolls her eyes. She tucks her feet underneath her body. "The garage is the safest place nearby, and we agreed on a five mile radius. The only other place is a gentleman's club, and I'm not fit for that line of work."

Bucky stands in front of her and takes a moment to wipe some grease off of her face. He doesn't know what to think about this new development, but they seem to have gotten more comfortable with touching each other like this. He doesn't let his fingers linger on her cheek. He would like to, though.

"Like you said, Eve, they're assholes. I don't like how they treat you."

"Well, Sebastian's not bad, it's just Vasile and other early-shift crew that get on my nerves. Besides, they won't try anything."

"You know, you used to grin and bear it."

"Yeah, well. That got us into a lot of trouble."

They go quiet, thinking about the HYDRA agents that had taken to verbal harassment until they were sure that Eve was harboring Bucky in her home. The ex-assassin shakes the topic off.

"What are you doing with the arm first?" he asks, stepping back for Eve to slide down from her perch.

"Taking the metal off, sifting through the wires." Eve starts talking animated again. She grabs his metal hand and starts dragging him to the mattress. "I'll clean the plating and make sure that the interfacing isn't jacked, but I also have to figure out how to reconnect to the shoulder plate."

Bucky sits down and looks up at Eve. Again, he forces himself to avoiding looking at the dip of her shoulders or the curve of her mouth. Just look at her eyes, he tells himself. "How long have you been wanting to take the arm apart?" he asks.

She positively beams. "Since I met you. It won't hurt, but if it does, tell me. Oh, and when I start rambling, just tell me to shut up and I will."

"I like it when you ramble." Bucky feels his neck and face warm. He goes on, anyways, in an attempt to—what? Clarify? No, this isn't clarification. This feels like something bordering on flirting. "You get excited and you just... light up. It's nice."

To his surprise, Eve starts to stammer over her words before choking out a pitchy, "Thanks."

Bucky lets Eve recollect herself. He focuses intently on not moving while she kneels beside him and starts to pop the metal off his arm to get to the wiring underneath. It doesn't hurt, and he doesn't really feel it, but he can feel the tugging and pressure of her careful hands.

He's hit with memories of before, when he was the Winter Soldier. He'd sit down just like this. Eve would tell him exactly what she was doing as she did it, her voice low and sweet, just like she's doing right now. He wouldn't respond, before. Now he does, asking questions and relaxing when Eve answers each with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

He's always loved science. Eve is a vault of knowledge on varying scientific subjects. And while he does hate his arm, she treats it like something amazing, and he finds himself sinking into the warmth her attention brings. It would be hard not to. It's hard to keep his thought straight when the metal is piled to the side, wires spilling out of his arm like he's a robot on a pedestal. Or a mattress.

"—and they attach to your nervous system, which is why you feel things. The absence of skin is why you can't feel textures. The metal plate that goes under your skin and around your shoulder is meant to act as a brace of sorts, to keep everything locked in."

Eve's fingers sort through the wires deftly. He doesn't tell her that it makes his entire left side twinge.

"The wires are all in good order, luckily. That would take about a month to fix, if I'm lucky, and it would hurt. But the metal is fine, nothing warped or too corroded for me to fix up. I'm wondering how I'm going to beef this arm up so they'll be equal in size, though. I could put in a metal bar, to stabilize the bicep and forearm. No, that would rub against the wires and the shoulder plate... any metal could cause injury, actually, and cloth is a no go, you could catch on fire..."

She twists a piece of corded wire. Bucky's body jerks. Immediately, she's apologizing, her words puffing against his jaw, and it really does nothing to help him catch his breath.

This time, she's much gentler. Bucky curses himself.

Get yourself together, would you? he thinks bitterly.

The part of his mind that he doesn't really feel control over doesn't respond.

Damn right.

"I don't want to mess around with the wiring too much," she says quietly, "but I have an idea. See, some wires are there to help the metal move more fluidly. There's a lot of those. I could add in a..."

While she continues musing, Bucky tries to get his breathing under control. This is ridiculous. He's ridiculous. Eve is...

Beautiful. Intelligent. Funny. Out of my league.

… well, she's Eve. He has every reason to be ridiculous with her this close, working on his metal arm. He has every reason not to let his mind wander.

He can feel all he wants. He can't let himself think about what could be, because what could be won't be.

If he could see into Eve's brain, he'd find himself facing a similar train of thought.

She's already soaked up all she can about his arm. She's just thinking out loud about possible ways to progress with Project Make The Arm Bigger. She's also pushing down the invasive thoughts about Buchannan, and how annoyingly handsome he is.

Complimenting her like that threw her off. She could have done this with easy-to-ignore thoughts. But no, he just had to get all charming on her.

And he just has to have an unfairly well-built body. It's distracting enough as it is. Add in the set jaw, shadowed with week-old stubble, and the faint, uneven breathing. Now add in a flustered Eve. You now have a problem.

Ignore it, Eve. He's got enough going on without adding whatever this is to the mix. You do, too. When it's all said and done, though... If it ever is, then you can be as open-minded as you'd like. So long as losing a friendship is a minor consequence.

Eve starts to clean the metal. It puts distance between them. She needs it to focus.

She carefully wraps the wires up in a clean towel and tells Buchannan, "Don't jostle it too much. I can start on everything wrist and below, but everything else needs to be prepared. I have an idea."

"Whatever works best," he says. Eve smiles, blinks herself out of La-La-Land, and gets ready to go to the store.

She needs to buy a few things.

~*~

A few things later, and Eve is back. She wastes no time in sketching out different ways to see her design work. It's the same schematic she used on her patients, though with a few alterations. It doesn't take too long to decide that, yes, this will work.

By then, though, it's late. Eve knows better than to think Buchannan will sleep well. She also knows that his nightmares wake him up in cold sweats, and that commenting doesn't help. But stargazing does. Storytelling does. And, when Buchannan initiates it, so does physical contact.

Tonight seems to be a tough night. He wakes up with a jerk and tries to convince Eve to go back to bed.

A fruitless endeavor, really.

Eve leans her head on his chest and, half-asleep, starts talking.

"You don't know much of my history. Like, the things friends know. I don't have a lot of good tales, 'cause I was the good child for the most part, but there are a few things. Our neighbors smoked a lot, and on Halloween Adam and I thought it was a smoke machine, so we went over. They were high as kites, but we didn't know that. The candy we got were actually edibles. Ma took 'em as soon as she smelled the pot on us."

"Eve."

"I didn't like office meetings, and I hated how snide everyone was, so I started a harmless prank. To cheer myself up. I started hiding action figures everywhere, and I made them do things no self-respecting hero or villain would. They started pulling tapes to find out what was going on. I nearly got fired, but management's managers thought it was funny."

"Eve," Buchannan repeats, his arm tensing around her. "Go back to sleep."

"You can't sleep, though."

"I also don't have a job." He sighs. "Please, Eve. Sleep."

"Let's talk instead."

Buchannan doesn't say a word. He just turns onto his side, careful of the wires, and looks at Eve. The lack of light does wonderful things to his face. It turns it into shadows and angles. The chapped, parted lips only confirm Eve's idea.

"My top three fears are failure, disappointment, and rejection. My top three hopes are that, one day, I'll be able to do something good, that I'll pet a raccoon, and that I'll get married. The most terrified I've ever been is Sokovia and the happiest I've ever been was when my dad stood up for the first time since he lost his legs." Eve blinks the sleep from her eyes. Mindlessly, one hand lightly grabs Buchannan's shirt. "Your turn."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

Buchannan frowns, obviously deep in thought, before sighing again. "I was happiest when Steve and I were in middle school and he decided to jump into the river mid-December and ended up dragging me into it, too. We were sick for weeks. I want to reconcile with Steve, first and foremost, but I also want to settle down somewhere rural, where you can see the stars. I want to be able to share it with someone, too. I was most terrified when I fell from the train and into HYDRA, and my fears are that I'll never be free again, that what I have will be taken from me again, and that I'll be alone."

A silence settles over them. Eve, of course, breaks it.

"Tell me about the forties."

"What about 'em?"

"What was it like?"

"Different than it is now, that's for sure."

And he tells her. Eve hangs onto each word, smiling at the nostalgia and the fact that this, in the moment, is theirs. Just the two of them. They can curl up in a bed together and they can talk, and talk, and talk. For the moment, it's just them, the memories they've had, and the one's they're making.

And it's beautiful.

Eventually, Eve takes the conversation again. She tells Buchannan all about how she learned to ride a bike, how she ate tacos from cheap, suspicious trucks and laughed after she got sick from it. She tells him about high school and how, even then, she refused to meet the jibes but rather tore them down and wore her flaws like diamonds. Eve weaves the stories together, all clumsy words and incorrect grammar, and Buchannan slowly seems to unwind.

He falls asleep, eventually. Eve manages, somehow, to slink out of his grip. She has work to get to. The three and a half hours of sleep she got that night—or, rather, morning—don't interfere with her work. They can't.

Bucky wakes up alone and considerably colder than he was when he fell asleep. He lays in bed for a few minutes, staring at where Eve was only a little bit before. He recalls every detail. Despite being by himself, despite missing Eve's company, he drapes his arm over his eyes and he smiles.

Last night was... it was a blessing.

He thinks about how her sleep-drunk words had become, ever so slowly, clear. He thinks about how messy her hair was, how his shirt was all sorts of mussed up, and how her tired, striking eyes had fixed on him like he was a new constellation to wonder at. He thinks about how he'd talked, how she'd talked, how he'd drifted off to Eve's gentle voice.

He thinks about how he never did this with a friend, or a best friend, or even a girlfriend.

And the smile stays just as strong as it was before.

Bucky doesn't let himself dwell on the aforementioned statement. Instead, he basks in the early morning light. He breathes freely, without tension in his muscles. He lets himself smile, because Eve cares, and last night was never and will never be the blessing.

Eve is the blessing. She always was. He hopes, dimly, that she always will be.


	30. |CHAPTER EIGHTEEN|

Eve spends the next six days tirelessly switching between working at the mechanic shop and working on Buchannan's arm. She pushes any and all thoughts, feelings, or hopes to the side. She does not think about how she shares a bed with Buchannan every night or how they talk until one of them falls asleep. She definitely doesn't think about how the small compliments keep on coming.

She's running herself dry and she knows it. Eve is exhausted, but Buchannan's arm is almost done, and she will not let him have a half-completed-and-equally-sized arm with wires spilling out in inopportune places any longer than he has to. So, she forces herself into sleep deprivation.

Buchannan notices. Eve isn't dumb. She also won't listen to him until she's finished on his prosthetic.

The moment the final plate is attached, however, Buchannan decides to test the new and improved arm. He does this by lifting Eve straight off the floor, dropping her onto the mattress, and glaring down at her with crossed arms.

"I'm getting you dinner," he warns, "and then you're going to sleep."

"I have work."

"Take the day off."

"Buchannan, really, I'm fine."

"You stared at the orange juice for ten minutes and then got a glass of water. That's not okay."

Eve shrugs. "It's functional, though." He doesn't look impressed in the slightest. She groans and flops backwards. "Fine. But if your pro—“

He turns around and starts rifling through the cabinets. Eve rolls her eyes at the super-soldier.

"Thank you, Buchannan," she says, much more sweetly than she'd meant to sound. She sees his back and shoulders tense. She relaxes into the mattress, deciding that, while she is a bit annoyed, she won't give Buchannan any grief. He's being nice, that's all, and it would be rude to treat him snappily. "Don't overdo yourself, though."

"You've overdone yourself for a week," he points out. The stove clicks on. "I've been sitting around for a week."

She smiles. He doesn't turn around to see it. Eve is grateful that he doesn't; it's moments like these that she lets herself look at him without any restraint. He's not looking, so she doesn't have to hide how much she cares for him. She doesn't have to do anything but pour everything she can't act on into one simple, dare she say longing, glance.

And then he's turned around to tell Eve that she should shower, and she's reeled in her expression enough to not be suspicious. Well, she hopes so. He was an assassin for, what, fifty years? Sixty? He's bound to see right through her.

So, don't hide, a part of her suggests as she starts running water. There's very little warm water in the hotel, and she always saves it for Buchannan. He will never admit it, but the cold startles him. Reminds him of falling, she guesses. Stop hiding. You think friends act like this? Sharing clothes and a bed, taking care of each other like this, looking and acting like you both do? You're kidding yourself if you think that this is only friendship. This is more.

Goosebumps raise. Eve can't tell if it's because of how shockingly cold the water is or if it's her train of thoughts. Whichever it is, she takes her time. Eve lets her thoughts wander.

If this isn't me reading into things, then who's to say it'd even work? That'd be awkward. We'd still be stuck together, just with formerly-romantic tension. And... well, I don't think I'm looking into it, but neither of us are in a place for a relationship like that. We're technically criminals. We might never stop being criminals, too. I guess dreaming wouldn't hurt, though, would it?

I've always gone on dates that are basic. Restaurants, movies, walks, and one time a picnic. Nothing lasted. I wonder if Buchannan would like science conventions or planetariums. I think he would. I know I would. What would he want to do? He mentioned liking zoos a while back, I think. Maybe that'd be fun. Or—or a museum. Or an aquarium.

A knock snaps Eve out of her thoughts. Buchannan's voice drifts over the noise of the shower.

"Dinner's done."

"Thank you!"

Eve hurriedly dries off and dresses. She's hungry, and though Buchannan doesn't cook often, he has, after all, learned a fair bit from Eve. Needless to say, he makes great spaghetti. Quick, easy, and very good.

He seems a bit uncomfortable. Eve brushes it off as jitters; he always seem wary when he cooks a meal, like Eve might not like it. She's never disappointed. She was hoping he wouldn't be worried about that anymore. So, to try and ease his mind, she starts to talk about how it's "really good, Buchannan," and how he "should cook more often."

He doesn't relax. Eve doesn't press. Buchannan will talk when he's ready, if he wants to, and Eve won't force it out of him. He's been forced into too much already.

Eve goes to bed as soon as her plate is cleared. She can't call and explain why she won't be going to work because, for safety reasons, she doesn't have a phone. Too easy to trace. Might as well have every transaction in person, because, apparently, that's harder to follow than digital communication.

She falls asleep to the sound of Buchannan cleaning the dishes, humming a tune she recognizes.

'That's Not My Name.'

~*~

Bucky finishes putting the dried dishes away. He checks on Eve and finds her deep asleep, mouth open and breathing loud. The shirt she wears—his shirt, though by now Bucky knows better than to care about Eve's usage of his clothes—is overlarge and hangs off her in the best of ways.

At one point, she'd commented that she looks better in flannel. She wasn't lying, was she?

Focusing on dinner had been difficult, but he'd managed. He'd even been successful in switching their roles. For once, Eve was the one being cared for. The complaints at the beginning had no bite; she was willing to let Bucky help, and he decided halfway through cooking dinner that he very much likes this turn of events. He likes giving back. Eve's done so much for him, lost so much, and making sure she takes care of herself feels good.

He spends a few hours journaling. His collection of notebooks has gone from two to nine, and he has a feeling he'll be needing more soon enough. The first one is nothing but miscellaneous facts, courtesy of Eve; the second is filled with angrily scratched-out sentences and jumbled, incoherent memories from where he first starting his 'rehab' while in HYDRA. The next eight are more scattered, progressively more comprehensible memories. The ninth is a rough draft of a timeline, to help Bucky sort through when things took place.

Bucky will redo the timeline in a tenth book, and then start an eleventh book for the memories he's making, and he might even get a twelfth for the memories he wants to make.

The pencil is worn to a nub, now. There's a pack of unsharpened pencils and old pens in a drawer, near the silverware, and erasers and a sharpener somewhere underneath the mattress. Bucky, again, looks over at Eve. He doesn't know what to call the feeling her gets when he looks at her.

Affection? Longing? Happiness?

He carefully tucks the journal back into the ragged backpack that, once upon a time, Eve gave him. Then he hides it beneath the floorboards.

There's something he's wanted to do for a while. He wants to let Eve read his journals. It makes him nervous—terrified, even—but he wants her to. She's opened up to him so much, so shouldn't he do the same? She's safe. Always has been. If anyone is to be trusted with his memories, lead and not-quite-neatly written, then it's Eve.

The fears come in, though, and they've overpowered this want for a long time.

Once she reads them, what will happen? Does he want to see the pity, the sadness, the judgment in her eyes? Does he want to hear whatever empty comforts she might give him? Does he want to risk ruining the only healthy, solid relationship he has at the moment for some semblance of comfort and understanding?

He does. God, he wants all of it.

Those are worries. Bucky, logically, knows that. Logically, he knows that Eve will pour over every word, ever harsh line, and when she finishes he knows that she'll think about it. She'll think and her mouth will shape the thoughts in her mind. When she does look at him, Bucky knows he won't see anything he's afraid to see. She'll be sad, of course, but rather than pitying she'll be empathetic.

Eve will thank him for sharing and trusting in her so much. She might promise to remember it for him; it seems like a little phrase they can call their own, that does. I'll remember for you; I care about you a lot. Two short sentences loaded with more things unsaid than said.

Bucky wonders if she'd offer any physical affection or comfort. He doesn't know how to ask for it, still, but he craves it. He wants to hold her hand and her lean against him; he wants to rest in her warmth and let her small hands ease the stress from his body and mind, be it through playing with his hair, massaging his shoulders, or just being with him. He wants to wake up every morning with Eve curled right beside him, drooling heavily and peaceful.

There's a lot he wants, it seems, and there's a lot he will never have.

Bucky gives up. He slips into bed, whispers an unheard "Good night, Eve," and closes his eyes.

His sleep may be plagued by his past, but there's also the present. It coils deeply into his subconscious, pulls him out of nightmares and into a place between. The future, full of blinding light and fuzzy possibilities, takes him into dreams.


	31. |CHAPTER NINETEEN|

The road stretches on forever. Trees line the sides, shadows warping the asphalt into something winding and grotesque. An engine revs. The growl of the motor is almost canine. The Winter Soldier stands next to a motorcycle. The gear HYDRA equipped him with leaves little room to breathe, or is it the crashed car in front of him?

He has a mission. Sanction and extract. No witnesses.

There are two.

The first dies by blunt force trauma. The second by asphyxiation. To the police and all other agencies concerned, it will be a car accident. They won't know the reason for the entire affair was laying in a truck, locked in a briefcase. They won't know that there will be more than one Winter Soldier.

"Buchannan?"

He freezes. He was about to snap the kickstand back when she spoke. Her voice carries across the road.

The Soldier makes eye contact with a frail-looking woman. He can't see her face. He can hear her, though, and he feels something inside his abdomen twinge.

He knows her.

"Buchannan, why'd you do this?"

She steps forward. Again and again, until the Soldier sees every distraught line in her forehead and every disgusted hue in her eyes.

"You did this." It's a whisper. Then, a yell.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

He wants it to stop.

He can’t have any witnesses.

He ends it with one hand on either side of her neck and a sharp twist.

The moment her body drops is the moment the Soldier realizes who this is and what he's done. But it's too late--she's dying, the breath stuck beneath the place where her spinal cord snapped, and her gaze is paralyzed directly on his face.

He begs and begs and cradles her lifeless, alive body. He desperately takes her pulse. He feels the exact moment it falters, sputtering out like a blown candle.

Everything that makes Eve, Eve drains from her coal-to-amber eyes.

Bucky wakes up with a scream dried on his tongue. He's hunched over the mattress, trembling and—God, he's sobbing into his fist, gripping the sleeping bag for any sort of resistance. He hears himself choke out some words. He doesn't know what he's saying.

"Buchannan." He cries harder. Eve's voice is soothing. Two small, cold hands cup his face. It takes everything in him not to flinch. Maybe he does. "We're not there, we're not hurt, I'm not hurt, I promise I'm not hurt."

She thumbs the tears from his cheeks. Bucky doesn't dare reach for her. He still hears the sick snap of her—

He feels it rise up his throat. He staggers into the bathroom and heaves up last night's dinner.

Eve is right there, holding his hair back. She waits for the puking to subside before she carefully turns his face from the toilet to her general direction. Eve wipes his face with a damp washcloth. Bucky doesn't see her; she's a blur, everything is, but he can feel her.

A lingering, calloused hand ever so gently on his neck. Morning breath on his face. The washcloth replaced by fingers, combing hair back from his eyes. He doesn't hear her say anything. He hears their breathing, though, and he can smell bile and sweat. There's the floor, cold underneath of him. The toilet presses against his spine. His thoughts link together.

"It was a dream," he croaks. Not to Eve, but to himself. "Just a dream." His forehead presses against Eve's. Again, he repeats the mantra: "It was just a dream."

"Are you here?" she asks softly. At his jerky nod, Eve continues to caress his jaw. "What do you need?"

I need—I need control over myself, I need to know you won't be in danger because of me, that I won't hurt you. I need to leave so I can't hurt you. I need, I need, I need.

That's not what comes out.

"Sputnik."

She frowns. "You need spu—“

"Don't say it." Panic. It washes over him. Bucky struggles to stay calm. He doesn't want to puke again. "It's a trigger word. HYDRA—they'd use it to make me complacent, it puts me to sleep. Promise you'll use it when you have to. Please, Lebed', please promise me."

"I promise, Buchannan," she says quietly. She presses her lips to his forehead. "I promise. Do you think you can get cleaned up?"

"I don't want to be alone," he mumbles. A 'no.'

Eve doesn't argue. "Then let me towel you off and get you some water."

No conversation is made. Eve cleans Bucky up as much as she can without stripping him down. He lets her without complaint. He's exhausted, still caught somewhere other than the present. He can't close his eyes. He's afraid of what might happen if he does. He focuses on the practiced efficiency with which Eve works, instead.

They go back to the other room. Eve gets them both water, sits down on the kitchen floor, and Bucky joins her wordlessly. Surprisingly, he starts talking.

"Your dad was military. You know how to handle me because of him."

Eve nods. She doesn't like this topic, but it's been--what, four years? Four years, give or take, and he's never breached this. He needs to.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she responds. "He came close, but he never hurt any of us. He pushed us away before any of that could happen. Adam, on the other hand, slipped. I think it's part of the reason he committed suicide." Despite how calm she sounds and looks, Bucky sees her. It's the too-steady tone, the lack of expression in her expressive face. "I don't know how to handle you, Buchannan, I just know you. Not everything that helped Dad or Adam helps you. I never handled them, either."

Bucky stares at the floor. "I hurt you." Then, to be clear, "In the nightmare. I—I killed you."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"No!" What kind of question is that?

"Then I feel just as safe as before." Eve scoots over. Her smile is muted. "You might have hurt me in the past, but you held back even then. Now, I'm positive that you won't lay a finger on me."

"They have the words, Eve." He hears the anguish in his voice. It's reflected in Eve's pupils. "Trigger words. Say 'em in order and I'm back to being the Soldier, no wiping needed.”

”Did many employees know the words?” Eve asks. Sometime during her slow movement to Bucky’s side she’d taken his hand. Now, she traces the tendons of his wrist.

”Only my handler,” he whispers. Eve hums in acknowledgment. “There’s... they have a book, too. It has everything on me in it. The trigger words, commands, a catalog of my missions. Everything. If someone finds it and they figure out that ten words stand between me and being the Asset—“

”We could find the book. Burn it, even, if that’s what you want.”

To get the book would entail one of two things. Going to where he was kept in Siberia or finding his former handler. Neither are particularly appealing.

Eve seems to understand. She links their fingers. “What does Lebed’ mean?”

Even in a situation like this, Bucky feels his face burn. “It’s Russian for ‘swan.’ I’m sorry, it just slipped out.”

Her breathing changes. Bucky looks at her and finds himself meeting the softest look he’s seen. The adoration is overwhelming, but he can’t look away.

”You remembered that?” Has Eve sounded this touched before? Has Bucky always been this skittish? He used to be a charmer, why is that failing him now?

”Yeah. Your mom was right when she said you were as graceful as a swan. If it bothers you I won’t use that nickname again,” he says quickly. “I won’t be upset.”

”For all the names I’ve given you, I think one for me is in order.”

She leans over and kisses his cheek. “I’ll be right back, I need to use the bathroom.”

Bucky gapes after her. Did—did she just—

Like a schoolgirl, he touches his cheek. The nightmare takes a seat in a very distant corner of his mind for the time being. For a moment, his mind is completely blank. Then it seems to go to static, like a radio that lost its connection, and Bucky is left to stare at the bathroom door.

He hears something drop—the hand soap, he thinks—and when Eve comes out a moment later, the first thing she says is an apology.

"I'm so sorry, Buchannan, that was out of line and—“

"It's okay."

She blinks owlishly. "It is?"

Bucky nods. Words don't seem appropriate. Either that or he doesn't know what to say, which is probably the reason for his silence. It doesn't matter, though, because Eve sits beside him again, their hands intertwined.

"Do you need distractions or do you just want company? I'm fine with either."

"Company," he tells her.

They sit with their backs against the cabinet for a few hours; eventually, Bucky slumps so his head is in Eve’a lap. He nearly falls asleep again because of her fingers and the magic they work on his scalp. Eve suggests they go out for lunch, take a walk, even. Anything to get them out of the apartment. Bucky puts up a small fight, if only because they aren’t exactly swimming in money.

Eve suggests they find a bank a few countries or cities over, take out a good chunk of her money, and skedaddle before Iron Man flags them down on the street. All of this is said with a very serious expression and the hints of excitement in her always-moving fingers.

He’s not sure if he attracts personalities with little self-preservation or if he just likes the chaotic good energy Eve and Steve have.

The answer to that is, of course, no.

The invitation to lunch is accepted.

They walk to a fast food joint. Bucky is skeptical of it, but Eve is more than willing to try food from a suspicious food chain, so they try some ‘traditional Romanian cuisine’, which, on all accounts, doesn’t seem very traditional.

Bucky lets their outing take precedence. It was a nightmare, nothing more. And he does have to keep an eye on the road; Eve has a particular swerve to her gait that worries him.

When he brings it up, Eve only grins. “I saunter, Buchannan, I don’t swerve.”

A lie, of course, but Bucky nearly smiles despite that.

After lunch and a short walk, they end up at the library. While Eve can’t check out books without a card—and, in extension, a picture and information on her—she can browse. Bucky ends up in the science section; he keeps a look out for Eve from there. Just in case.

He sees one of the librarians come and start talking to her. Flirting, by the way he leans against the shelf and nearly knocks it over.

Eve is polite with him. She doesn’t laugh at his mishap but instead points in the direction of Bucky, who walks over.

Eve fills him in. The librarian wants to know if she needs any help, and that she should feel free to ask him if there’s any questions on her mind. Her response to that had been this:

”No, but Jay might. He’s just over there.”

Bucky smirks at the red faced librarian. It’s not wrong to take satisfaction in his failed attempt to flirt with Eve. It’s definitely not wrong to take advantage of the flustered man’a willingness, or lack thereof, to help him. Maybe it's a bit... well, asshole-ish but Bucky thinks he's rather entitled to be like that.

It's also pleasant knowing that the librarian himself thinks that he and Eve are dating.

He mentions it on the way back to their apartment. He might say he doesn't know why, though the fact of the matter is he does, and he's hoping the prospect of being seen as a couple is as nice in Eve's mind as it is in his. What he gets is a short pause, a shrug, and a casual conversation.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"Does it upset you?"

"No. Does it upset you?"

"No."

He looks at Eve out the corner of his eyes. In his peripheral, she's hesitant. She's also blushing. Her tone is just as unbothered as before.

"Well, that's good. I don't plan on doing a fake-dating or fake-married cover, though, because I've read too many of those stories and I'm a little tired of how cliché they are." Her hand brushes his as they walk. Bucky wonders if it's accidental. "But, if you--fuck!"

Bucky's life flashes before his eyes. Metaphorically, of course. It does feel like his heart stopped, though, when Eve just books it for the street corner to snatch a wandering child from the incoming traffic. Bucky runs over to make sure they're both okay. The mom thanks Eve profusely, going so far as to offer her money, but Eve decides to tell her, instead, to keep a close eye on her son. The look she gets is... well, sour to say the least. Eve doesn't seem to mind. She smiles all the wider at the curt goodbye the woman gives.

Bucky is starting to think that she likes causing other people annoyances, sometimes.

The rest of the walk is spent in silence. The moment for whatever Eve was going to say has long since passed. In its wake, the easier of languages. Touch.

Her pink brushes against his palm. This time, he tentatively holds her hand. She gives him a light squeeze, as if to say, 'Yes, that's what I was trying to instigate. Thanks for helping out and saving me from awkwardness.'

Eve asks him what he wants for dinner once they're inside. He suggests Chile relleno, thinking of the dish she made what seems like years ago, and her smile assures him that he made the right decision. Bucky pulls out the his journal and starts writing while she bumbles around, straightening and mumbling to herself.

His attention keeps drifting from the pages to Eve. He freezes like a deer caught in headlights when she catches him staring. She doesn't do anything but give him a startlingly warm look and continue wiping down the counter top. Bucky is sure to not stare, after that.

Dinner comes and goes. Bucky showers while Eve starts to wash the dishes.

She's been kicking herself since she almost asked Buchannan if he wanted to make the assumption a fact. Like an idiot. I mean, it's increasingly obvious that both of them have not-entirely-platonic feelings for each other; both are subconsciously acting on these feelings; and neither are complaining about any of it. But that kid just had to look at the street and go, "My time has come."

Stupid kid. And his mom--what was she thinking, not watching her own damn son so close to the street? What the hell was she hoping would happen? That her six-year-old wouldn't decide to waltz in front of cars?

"Calm down," she mutters, setting the last plate to dry.

The water cuts off. Eve quickly braces herself for whatever talk will invariably come next.

Instead, Mr. Hotshot comes out shirtless. Eve smacks her hip into the chair because not-unwelcome-but-not-entirely-warranted view. Buchannan doesn't comment, like the unsaintly Saint he is. He asks if she'd tell him how to do things with his hair.

"Buchannan, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm black. I don't know how to do white people hair. I know how to do my impossible hair, and I gave up straightening as a kid to embrace the curl."

"Apply the knowledge?"

Eve sighs. "I can try? I mean, the most I could do is put it in a ponytail or a bun. I used to do those simple braids, but that was a long time ago."

"Please, Lebed'?"

Internally, Eve swears. Externally, she rolls her eyes good naturedly and pulls out the chair she just bruised herself on. "Take a seat, then."

He obliges. Eve does her best not to stare. Her best isn't enough, but Buchannan is too lost in thought to notice, thank the heavens. Eve spends the better half of an hour trying to remember how to braid hair. Eventually, she gives up and sticks his hair into a half-bun. It suits him quite well.

"Go look and the mirror," she orders, "and tell me if you like it. I can redo it tomorrow because believe me, that won't hold through the night. Well, not if you're sleeping. It'll fall out."

He walks off. Her gaze lingers on the ridges of his shoulder blades and on the low-slung sweatpants.

Unfair, she thinks darkly. Absolutely unfair. Not that I'm complaining.

"Do you like it?" he asks from the bathroom. Eve plops down onto the bed with an affirmative noise. "I dunno what to think."

"Always give a new hairstyle at least a week before you decide that you hate it."

Eve will never mention the year she decided to straighten her pixie cut. At the time, she thought it was amazing. Adam had cut her hair for her after all, and he wouldn't lie to her, right?

Middle school horrors will never be brought up in any conversation. Especially not that particular horror.

He eventually ends up in bed, too. Eve doesn't comment on the fact that he's on the opposite edge of the mattress, back towards her. She shifts so that her front is pressed against his back; she trails her fingers along the grooves of his metal arm for a moment, a silent question.

Is this okay?

He doesn't move.

Yes.

"You might not feel like sleeping," Eve says, voice muffled, "but you need to. And if you have another nightmare, I'm here. I'm here if you don't, too."

A long, long silence. Eve teeters on the precipice of sleep as he whispers, "Thank you."

Eve is out before she can be sure he said anything at all.

Bucky lies awake for hours. He hadn't had a nightmare like that in so long. Why now?

It doesn't matter. Oblivion grabs him by the collar before he can come to an answer.

~*~

Time passes. Lots of it. Months blur by without anything suspicious occurring. Neither Eve nor Bucky bring up their relationship, whatever it is, and neither mind one bit. They find themselves content and immensely grateful for what they have; why bother wondering when they have what they need--no, more than that, what they share.

And they live. Bucky is recovering. Eve is growing. There's no sign of anything out to get them; there hasn't been for a long time. Bucky even starts looking for a job.

The storm doesn't come slowly. It doesn't appear on the horizon, a red sky at dawn beacon to give the pair a warning. No, it appears suddenly, and it appears in the form of a newspaper for Bucky and in the form of an arrest for Eve.

Eve was enjoying a joke at work, grease on her hands and a box of tools at her feet. Then there were people in full-body gear with military-grade guns, all trained at Eve. One moment she was being forced onto the ground; the next she's in the back of a cop car, in between two people she knows.

Steve Rogers is on her right and Sam Wilson is on her left, in the section behind her. In the front, just behind the driver, is another captive, this one a Wakaka--a Wakanka--well, a prince. The tenseness in the car itself is suffocating. Eve stares at her cuffed hands, very aware that she's between two men who have reasons to hate her guts. Very good reasons. One, Captain America, is currently drilling holes into her face.

Right when Eve believes she's about to pass out, Mr. Rogers talks.

"So, how was Bucharest?"

She wishes she could do many things right now. Tear at her fingers for some sort of relief, melt into the seat, somehow die or phase into another dimension. Anything. None of it happens, obviously, so she's forced to answer. Her voice is calm, despite the fact that she's terrified for both herself and for Buchannan, who is in a specially made portable cell.

"A little chilly."

"Yeah. Not nearly as warm as Bucky's bed."

She snaps her head to the side. She's not embarrassed, she's annoyed. Two years, and this is what he says? "If we could have afforded more, we would have," she says simply. She looks up at him in an attempt to gauge his emotions. He doesn't look angry, just factual and maybe a bit wary of her. Nothing salty.

"I'm not upset anymore," he says. "I know you were trying to help him, and while I was pissed that I couldn't be there to help with that, it does amount for something in my books. Doesn't mean I'm not shocked that you were fondue-ing with my best friend."

Now, she's confused. "Fond--I'm about to sound really stupid, but I honestly have no clue what that means. Fondue is food, not an action."

"Sleeping with him," Sam supplies helpfully. "He doesn't like saying the 'f-word'."

"He was in the army, though," she says, bewildered. She pushes the thought away to focus on the moment at hand. "And we were sleeping next to each other, not with each other. No sex, no drugs, lots of rock and roll."

In the front, the prince turns his head around in interest. "You are with the Captain's friend?"

"For shit's sake--no, we literally couldn't afford anything more than a mattress and the bare minimum of household supplies!"

"It's fine if you are, you know," Sam pipes up again. "No judgment here."

"I'm done with this conversation," she mumbles, purposefully looking out the window. Looks like Berlin is close, she thinks grimly. As close as I am to chucking myself into the void.

"How much does he remember?" Steve asks, hope tinging his voice.

"You can ask him yourself. He might be standoffish, but he's not going to snap and start shooting people. How did they arrest you four, anyways?"

"Highway chase," the Falcon informs. "Mr. Prince, Barnes, and Cap had a three-way showdown. I got held up because Barnes decided to bring the overpass down on me."

"He did what?"

"Self-defense," Mr. Rogers mutters. "It was self-defense--"

"Was it self-defense when he killed my father?"

"Killed your--what the hell is going on?" Eve demands, twisting harshly to look around at the three men. None meet her glare. The prince, however, answers her question.

"Barnes was in Vienna to sign the Sokovia Accords. He planted a bomb; among the casualties was my father, King T'Chaka. This happened yesterday."

Something that feels like a wet quilt lays on Eve's chest. "Bucky and I were job hunting yesterday, we haven't left Bucharest since Sokovia--"

"You were at Sokovia?"

"Yes, Mr. Rogers, but Mr. Prince Cat Sir, I swear we were both in Romania yesterday--"

"Forgive me, Miss Robertson, for not believing you."

"There's video footage, just check the street cameras, and the people we talked to--"

"There is also footage of Barnes planting the bomb in Vienna, Miss Robertson, that attests otherwise."

Eve clenches her fists. "Listen. I know what losing your dad feels like. I get it, it sucks, and I'm not asking you to move on. I'm asking that you listen to facts instead of fuzzy CCTV cameras, Mr. Prince."

Silence. Steve shakes his head slightly, telling her it's a lost battle. But he doesn't know Eve.

Eve sets her gaze straight ahead.

Whatever happens, she isn't going down without a fight.

Thirty minutes or so pass before Sam decides he's had enough of the quiet.

"So, you like cats?"

"Sam--"

"What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don't want to know more?"

Eve furrows her eyebrows. The prince is a furry? A furry hellbent on killing Barnes under suspicion of murder?

"Your suit," Rogers begins, "it's vibranium?"

Eve almost scoffs. The last vibranium was used to make Captain America's shield in the forties, and that was stolen metal. Everyone knows that.

Her mind sniggers. A vibranium fur-suit, it whispers.

Why is it that, in serious situations, her mind decides to be like this?

"The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior. And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king. So, I ask you, as both warrior and king--how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?"

The threat weighs heavily in the air.

Eve closes her eyes. She isn't a religious woman, but right now, she finds herself praying that Buchannan will be okay.

Please, just let him be okay.

They arrive and are immediately escorted away. Well, Eve is. She's taken to an open room, with little furniture or life, and is sat down on a bench. Her handcuffs are linked to a table. It's almost an interrogation room, if the Joint Counter-Terrorist Centre gas an interrogation room, or anything that acts as one.

She waits a while. There's no clock, so there's no telling time.

Eve almost went to prison, back in 2014. Now she's in the same boat again, but this time, there's no getting out of it.

She wonders what prison is like.

The door opens. A man introduces himself as Everett Ross. FBI director, or something of the like. Eve asks if she gets a lawyer before any questions can be fired. She gets a derisive laugh in response.

"Oh, no. Neither you are your boyfriend get anything like that."

"That goes against several laws, Mr. Ross."

"Believe it or not, but Bonnie and Clyde duos don't get those rights."

"We're American citizens, and he's the longest serving prisoner of war." She looks evenly at the man who has already decided she'll spend her life rotting away. "Neither of us have been to Vienna. We've been in Bucharest for a long time since Sokovia crash landed in 2015. There's security footage and alibis that can attest to that."

"Don't bother. There's physical evidence damning both of you. The time for excuses is over, Robertson, and the time for answers is here."

The questioning starts. Eve only raises her eyebrows.

"If I don't get a lawyer, what makes you think I'm going to answer anything? A fair trade, I think. Answers for basic human rights, as stated by the Constitution."

Everett Ross is not amused. "We get answers, Robertson, we just want to be nice."

"I would have been a nurse, then. Far better field, that."

"Answer the questions before we have to use other methods, Miss Robertson. Sarcasm isn't the best thing right now."

She answers everything they ask without hesitation or lies. She doesn't like this, and she knows she won't get anything from being cooperative, but Eve doesn't want to make their situation worse, if that's even possible.

Turns out, it is.

Some time after Mr. Ross left, the alarms start blaring. The emergency lights are on; there's yelling and running and here Eve is, stuck.

She stays quiet. There's no getting out of the cuffs; she doesn't have Luis or Dave or Scott or Kurt's background. She can't weasel her way out of this. She's left to sit and wait, and to pray.

Please, let Buchannan be okay, let him be okay...

The Winter Soldier, meanwhile, has just been triggered. James Buchannan 'Bucky' Barnes has taken backseat. His superior has commanded three things of him: a mission report for December 16, 1991; the location of the Siberian Compound; and that he escape to meet him there.

Longing.

The orders are primary. The Soldier waits for the mission to set into place; while he does, he attempts to rid himself of a strange feeling in his sternum. He finds, with irritation, that he can't. He doesn't know what to call the feeling, either, but he hears footsteps. He has to focus on his mission.

Rusted.

The two guards drop like flies. He assumes another hidden position, however, when two more pairs of steps capture his attention. He quickly disposes of the first man. The second proves more difficult, though not impossible to deter. The second man plummets down the elevator shaft, and the Soldier begins to tear through the building.

Furnace.

More guards swarm him once he reaches an open area. Multiple at a time, all of no importance. The Soldier takes care of them with the clinical ease of a practiced surgeon. He was nearly in the clear again when a high pitched noise startles him. He glares over at the source--a suited man with a metal glove--and clenches his jaw when, again, his mind is wracked by a ear-splitting pain.

Daybreak.

The Soldier doesn't play with the new obstacles. A few quick exchanges and the man is on the ground, disarmed, and two women have tag-teamed him. The blonde is thrown into a table; the red-head croaks out a sentence when he choke-slams her into a counter. Something registers in his mind at what she said. He does remember her, and before he can leave her, there's yet another annoyance to deal with.

Seventeen.

This particular man is driven, more so than the other people the Asset had been fighting. There's something personal between them, then. There's no other reason for the man to have that amount of hatred in his eyes. Personal slights can wait to be resolved; he has orders to follow, and to receive.

Benign.

The man has other ideas. He cuts him off moment after the Soldier had begun to ascend again; it became apparent that this was a fight he couldn't avoid, however, and so he made a quick escape before he was held up even more than he has already.

Nine.

Finally, he reaches the landing pad. The Soldier wastes no time in locking the door and starting the engine. He can't shake that feeling from earlier. He's missing something, something very important. He doesn't want to leave without whatever it is. He begins takeoff, anyways.

Homecoming.

One of the men from earlier, the blonde that he had more trouble disposing of, decides to launch himself at the helicopter as its lifting into the sky. The machine dips under the weight. Somehow, even when the Soldier shifts into high gear, the idiot is keeping the helicopter from departing. Be it through sheer dumb luck or blind determination, the man's successful in bringing the helicopter--and, with it, the Asset--closer to the landing area.

One.

The Soldier makes a split-second decision. He jerks the helicopter towards the blonde man. It crashes, metal groaning and shrieking. The harsh movements nearly jar the Asset into momentary inaction. He waits for the sliding to stop and for the man to look up, however, before his hand shoots through the glass and wraps around his throat.

Freight car.

Gravity tugs the wrecked machine down. The Asset doesn't loosen his grip. If he has to fall, so does he.

Sputnik.

His head slams against the glass, and he drowns himself in memories of wide smiles and small, dark eyes.

~*~

The alarms stop, eventually. Eve didn't expect anyone to come in and check on her. And yet an old friend and employer saunters in, not smirking but blank-faced.

"Hey there, Eve, how was vacation?" Mr. Tony Stark asks coolly. He sits down in front of her. "No calls or anything, so you must have enjoyed it."

"Didn't want an early return," she says, half-heartedly joking.

"I can tell."

The hostility is palpable. Eve finds herself looking down like a scolded child.

"Do you want me to apologize?"

"For the Justin Bieber, yeah."

She scrunches her nose up. "What about Justin Bieber?"

"Don't act stupid, it took weeks to get rid of the music. I don't know why you decided to wipe your hard drive and add that in instead."

Add--oh. Eve smiles. Apparently, Kurt had decided to set up a little trap in case the laptop was in the wrong hands. How nice of him. Best not to give him away, though. "Oh, yeah, that. Stroke of genius, though, wasn't it?"

"Stroke of annoyance, kind of like Barnes. He doesn't pull his punches when he's in Instant Kill Mode, does he?"

Just like that, all amusement drains from Eve. She stares at Tony in pale horror. "He was triggered," she breathes. Then, she curses. "Damn it all, it's the asshole from--look, Tony, I know I can't do anything and I wouldn't dream of making you do a thing, but please, listen to me. They'll send you after Buchannan--"

"Buchannan? You call him by his middle name?"

She glares at him. "Yes, now let me finish. They'll send you after him, probably with whatever is left of the Avengers, and when you find him--because you will--don't let the Wakandan prince kill him. Please, Tony," her voice cracks. "Don't let him die."

The billionaire sighs. He runs a hand over his face. "You know, Eve, I was worried out of my mind. A call would have been nice."

"I know."

"They're sending you to what they call the Raft. High-security prison, out in the middle of the ocean. I don't have any sway here."

"I know, Tony."

"But if I can stop Fursona from ganking Barnes, I will." The genius shrugs, like it's not a big deal. "Not that I like the cyborg, but because his girlfriend happens to be the closest thing to a little sister that I've ever had."

That comment puts Eve at ease. She's still worried--unfairly so, might she add--but knowing that her almost-brother is looking out for Buchannan is enough to help her calm down.

"Thank you, Tony, and I'm so sorry."

"Apologize when you and Barnes are roommates, yeah?"

A squadron of heavy-duty agents escort Eve onto a helicopter. She's flown to the Raft Prison and locked inside while Buchannan and everyone else duke it out in a German airport.

She's locked inside while Buchannan, Tony, and Steve fly to Siberia.

She's locked inside when Buchannan needs her most.


	32. |CHAPTER TWENTY|

Eve felt it after the adrenaline wear off. The cell didn't have much to explore, nothing really stimulating enough to keep her mind occupied, and that meant two things.

The first is to do with hypoglycemia. Without adrenaline to take the edge off and distractions to keep her attention, it's hit her full force. Nausea, sweating, dizziness, chills, overheating, the whole nine yards. Then factor in severe anxiety for the situation she and Buchannan are in.

Now, just to top it off, add in a bunch of prisoner superheroes with pissed-off attitudes.

Eve notices Sam walk by. She notices a red-head, one of the first Avengers, and then someone she met years ago.

"Scott?"

His head whips around. His mouth falls open; the guards don't let him pause to talk, though, and he's shoved into a cell too far away from Eve for communication to take place. He tries signing, though neither of them are well-versed in ASL, so it ends up causing them both immense frustration. Besides, the guards here don't tolerate much conversation between prisoners. Eve slinks back to the toilet, rests her forehead on its cold rim, and tries to focus on anything but the slight rock of the prison.

Eventually, she looks to the camera in the corner of the cell.

"Look," she begins, swallowing down her nausea, "I know I'm not in a place to demand things, but I'm going to puke. I need food more than twice a day, nutritious food, or--"

Too late. Everything starts coming up. Even after, she retches until it's just liquid, and then until she's dry heaving.

The next day, they start giving her three meals.

~*~

Iron Man's blast knocked Bucky back in time, to two separate moments. The first was when Eve took the metal panels off his arm, accessed the wires underneath, and remodeled it to fit his build. He remembers how careful she'd been. She's rambled nearly the entire time and, despite her asking Bucky to stop her, the ex-Winter Soldier had listened intently.

The second was falling, explosive pain, and then being pulled through snow to the death of James Buchannan Barnes. To the birth of the Winter Soldier.

There had been snow then, too. He'd been high up then, like he is now, but the fall from the train seems like it took a shorter amount of time than the seconds it takes to hit the cement.

Everything blurs. Bucky is nearly delirious from pain, and the ringing in his ears won't stop, but he still reaches out when he sees Iron Man about to end Steve. Everything sputters out and back into focus, never sharp enough for Bucky to grasp what's going on. His body moves on autopilot, guided by Steve's heavy hand.

He lays in the back of a jet. He hears Steve talking to that African prince, hears someone say 'Zemo'. That's when he pushes himself onto his elbows and makes eye contact with the man that started this.

Colonel Helmut Zemo sits on a bench--no, he's tied to it--and Bucky is shocked by the clear emotion that curls his hands into fists.

Hate. Strong, unbridled hate.

Bucky had a semi-stable life. He'd knit together a home with Eve, HYDRA poison in his brain, and he'd been happy. For the first time in, what, eighty years? He'd finally been happy. Then the bombing happened, then the government happened, then and then and then, until here Bucky is now, looking at a man with enough burning hate to level countries.

He could, too. He may have spoken about the other Winter Soldiers like they were different, but there's little separating Bucky from them. He was the most elite, a death squad in one man with more kills than anyone else in HYDRA, before they ever signed up to get the serum. They turned out much, much worse than him, but that doesn't erase thirty languages in his mind, or the dozens of kills, the art of stealth, infiltration, destabilization. He may not have been one of them—they were Winter Soldiers, a team—but he was the Winter Soldier.

They land in Berlin. Steve stays with Bucky while Prince T'Challa drops Zemo off. Then, they begin the flight to the Raft Prison, where all of 'Team Cap' are being held.

The first few hours are spent in heavy silence. The three men have all lost something, these past days, and all of them are giving those things thought. For Steve, he's lost his freedom. T'Challa lost his father. And Bucky has lost Eve.

His past, in its entirety, has planted the seeds for this. This whole civil war, if you will, had helped those seeds blossom.

He'd been terrified that this or something like it would happen. Now that it has, there's no way he can be near Eve again. He can't let that nightmare become a reality. He can't let Eve join the ranks of the lives he's taken or ruined.

Steve sits next to Bucky, halfway through the journey.

"So," he says quietly, "you and Eve?"

Bucky clenches his jaw. Later, he'll dismiss it as pain. Having your prosthetic blown off is not an easy thing. Neither, however, is forcing yourself away from the woman you love.

That revelation forces two words straight out of his mouth.

"I wish."

"I'm going to get them all out. You could talk to her about that afterwards. She obviously likes you. Everyone thought you two were already together, actually. I'm sure T'Challa would—“

"I want to go under, Steve."

"What?"

Bucky meets his oldest friend's gaze blankly. "I want to go into cryo again. For obvious reasons."

"You... Bucky, you went two years without incident."

"Yeah. And the first incident I have ends up getting your friendship with Stark ripped to shreds. It gets your friends in prison. You're a wanted criminal now, Steve, do you think this isn't a big deal?"

Steve runs a hand through his hair, obviously upset. "It is, Buck, but I just got you back--"

"I need to do this, Steve, at least until I can get some sort of real help." There's no desperation in his voice, despite Bucky feeling it clawing at his jugular. "I wouldn't do this unless I needed to."

Steve Rogers—not Captain America, not America's Golden Boy—seems to slump in defeat. Bucky sees the man he knew in the forties, just a glimpse of him underneath the muscles, and he realizes that the Steve he knew is still very much there. He wishes enough of the old Bucky Barnes was there. He wishes a lot of things.

"At least tell me about what you two did during those two years," his best friend says tiredly.

Bucky does. He tells him everything he can without sounding sweet on Eve. Steve's smile changes from interest to amusement and even further to something gentle and warm. Once Bucky finishes with the recap, Steve chuckles noiselessly.

"You know, when you talk about Eve, you get this look on your face. I used to look at Peggy like that."

"Like what?" Bucky is almost afraid to ask. He wants to know the answer, though.

"Like she snapped the dead back to life."

Bucky wonders if he's sappy for saying what he does.

"She did."

They land an hour later. Bucky, being one-armed and in severe pain, lets Steve mow through the floating prison. He waits nervously for his return, knowing that T'Challa can only disable security for so long before they need to leave. As Bucky starts worrying, he hears footsteps, and six people are hurrying onto the Quinjet.

He says her name the moment he sees her.

"Eve."

She's kneeling in front of him a moment later, touching his face and examining his arm. She doesn't ask questions; he sees them running rampant in her eyes, but she holds them back and makes sure that he's okay first. Eve seems to realize that the arm, or lack there of, is the most severe of issues. She leans her head against his chest. Bucky hears her whisper, "Thank God," with more relief than he'd thought possible.

He catches Steve's eye. The ex-soldier smiles knowingly.

Bucky says, "Thank you," but he's not sure if it's directed at Steve, God, or Eve.

He soaks up everything about Eve during the long ride to Wakanda. He commits everything about her to memory. This might be the last time they ever see each other, if Wakanda's finest can't find a way to reverse HYDRA's brainwashing. He lets every barrier he so carefully crafted crumble into dust, a final act of selfishness, so he can just be.

Eve seems to do the same. Bucky is thrown for a loop at the sheer intensity of her eyes—their color, in the shoddy lighting of the aircraft, is absent—and the thick, sweet honey of her voice. He's fallen a lot in life. Nothing has been more pleasurable than falling for Eve.

He fell, first, for the stranger with a big heart. After that, he fell for the mechanic with more balls than any man he's ever met. He fell for the hardened nurse, the history geek, the cunning and ambition and determination only Eve can make into something good. He fell for every aspect of Eve, the good and the bad, and there's no way to pick himself up from that landing.

They land in Wakanda. It's the most beautiful country he's ever seen. T'Challa gets them escorted to rooms; he isn't daft enough to ask if Eve and Bucky want to be roomed together. He just sends them on their way with a warning.

"Tell her soon, Barnes, before she finds out herself."

Bucky thinks about that as they take turns in the bath. He thinks about it as a pair of scientists wordlessly hand him a cover for his prosthetic and as they lay in bed, Bucky holding Eve close.

"Eve," he says carefully. She hums in recognition. "I need to tell you something."

She shifts in his arms so she can look at him. Bucky forgets how to speak at the affection and hope in her unfairly beautiful smile. "Yes?"

"I'm going under."

The smile doesn't falter, at first. Bucky watches the realization sink in, draining all that happiness ever so slowly, until all that's left is a blank canvas.

"I'm doing it until the scientists here can fix me. They have the tools to, they just need to figure out how. Then I'll be back, HYDRA free." He searches desperately for any sort of emotion. Eve is an emotive person; she's constantly making micro-expressions, but right now, there's nothing at all. "Talk to me, Eve, please say something."

She forces a smile. "I won't talk you out of it. Whatever decision you make on this, I'll support you."

"Eve—"

She kisses his cheek. "Go to bed, Buchannan. It's been a long couple days."

Eve rolls back over. Bucky shuts his eyes against the horrible feeling in his veins. Like cement, it runs slow and heavy. He hears Eve's breathing fluctuate. He knows that sound—she's trying to hold back tears. He's heard that many a time over these past years.

This is the first time he's been the cause of it.

He sleeps restlessly that night. It's only when he wakes up that he finds out why.

Sometime after he fell asleep, Eve had gotten up.

He finds her in the bathroom. She'd taken some pillows and blankets and created a makeshift bed in the bathtub. Bucky forces his voice to be steady.

"I think they want to do it today."

She nods from her place in the tub. There's nothing to suggest she'd been crying. Her fingers are raw from when she used her time in imprisonment on herself.

"When T'Challa dropped Zemo off, he got my journals. I want you to read them, when I'm in cryo."

Eve looks away. She opens her mouth. No words come out, so she shuts it again.

"When I'm cured—"

"Please, Buchannan, don't talk about the future like right now. Please."

Bucky hesitantly sits down by the tub. Eve makes eye contact; he feels guilt burn down the back of his throat at the water gathered in her eyes. He hesitantly reaches out, unsure of what to do or say. Eve meets him halfway, leaning forward for Bucky's hand to rest on her cheek.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he begs.

Eve smiles. It's not forced. It's not her usual sunny smile, either. "I understand why you're doing this, and I'm not lying when I say I'll be with you no matter your decisions, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset. You spent two years with me, right after you escaped HYDRA. You stayed with me before that, too. That's somewhere between four and six years of us making things work. I... I thought, now that we were both free..."

She shakes her head, easing her face away from Bucky's hand. He acutely feels the loss of contact.

"You weren't a danger then, Buchannan," she says quietly, "I don't think you are now. But if this is what you want, I'm there for you. I'm there for you if it isn't, too."

Bucky barely has it in him to say, "It is." He has enough, though, and Eve is there to walk him down to the lab. She tells him that she'll see him soon and leaves.

On the way out, Eve starts crying. She can hear Bucky and Steve talking in the lab. She feels furious at herself for crying. She shouldn't be upset about this. This is to help Bucky, it's obviously hard on him, and this is his choice. Who is she to wish that he'd asked her to be his girlfriend instead of telling her he was going into cryo again? Who is she to think that's what he was going to say?

"Miss Robertson."

Eve quickly wipes her face. She fakes a smile. "Prince T'Challa, I want to thank you for everything you've done."

He isn't smiling. He looks drained of energy, honestly. "Walk with me?"

She walks with him, over to a giant window overlooking his kingdom. It's beautiful and wild and better than Dubai.

"My sister, Shuri, is going to fix Barnes. She says she will have the information needed by next week. The procedure should take a day, between thawing him out and curing him." T'Challa looks over at Eve's not-very-composed face. "He will return to you soon, Miss Robertson. I have a place for you both, in one of the more remote areas of Wakanda, for when he is stable."

"Thank you, T'Challa, but neither of us are Wakandan. This could get you in trouble."

"With who? I will be king soon. My mother, the queen, is in acting authority until then. No one outranks me, not even Shuri." The Black Panther laughs without humor. "I appreciate the concern, but you can not change my mind. I will get you both citizenship if that is what it takes to ease your mind."

Citizenship. The man's really going above and beyond, isn't he?

"I'll accept if that means I get to help you in return," she says after a moment of stunned silence.

"I can arrange that."

Eve excuses herself. If Bucky was serious about the journals...

It feels wrong, though. To read them.

And? a cold part of her mind demands. You thought he liked you, you were wrong, and he said that to make it up to you before he goes off to Icicle Land. Read the damn journals.

She reads the damn journals. Well, she gets them from the princess, who had been working tirelessly to create some sort of upgraded armor for her brother, and then heads to her temporary room.

Eve stares at them, conflicted. And she gives in.


	33. |CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE|

Like everything, Eve reads the journals in order. Anything else would be less than satisfactory for her brain's wiring. Besides, who doesn't like to see change happen? Over five years worth of it lodged in lead and ink, sprawled over twelve notebooks of varying condition.

The first is the facts and tidbits that Eve collected for him, and since it barely counts as the first, Eve decides that should be the one that comes after. It begins with what Eve wrote. Several entries recapping their time together, up until he 'moved in', so to speak. After her handwriting ends, Buchannan's begins. It's scribbled words in no real order. Eve fingers the pages carefully, as if she were holding Buchannan's mind instead of the beginning of his recovery. Every word is written messily and sharply. She imagines that's what his thoughts would look like, if they were tangible or at least corporeal.

The second has more frustration in it. There's holes in the pages from where he pressed down too hard. Pages are scribbled out of existence. There's less coherency to this and much more anger. What wasn't crossed out is dark. He didn't remember much at the time, apparently. That excludes HYDRA. He'd written mostly about the most recent missions of his—that is, assassinating Nick Fury, attacking Steve on the highway, and the Helicarriers—and the treatment shortly before hand. There's also bits of the past scattered in. Steve in alleyways, 'I'm with you until the end of the line', falling into HYDRA.

Next is considerably calmer. Less crossed out words and more full sentences. Eve is surprised to find herself in the pages of that third journal. He talks about her kindness and how it makes her gullible (it doesn’t), about how she lacks self preservation (she’s not that bad), and how Eve needs to stop ‘ripping her hands to shreds’ (which is completely true).

Number four, five, and six are filled cover to cover with fragments of Buchannan’s past. Eve smiles through those; most of them are from the forties or earlier, and some of the stories he recounts are downright laughable, but she knows he wouldn't lie to himself. When you've been lied to and manipulated for so long, you're bound to get tired of it and treat yourself differently. Well, that's what Eve gets from his writing, at least.

Seven and eight have more of the present, and that includes Eve. She doesn't breathe well through those two. Everything else consists of dark mentions and clear memories with no discernable order. But whenever she comes up, Eve's mind seems to fizzle out of existence. Buchannan paints her so prettily; he complains, yes, but most of it is praise that would seem better directed at someone else. Eve is just... Eve. She's used to compliments and flirting but Buchannan's writing seems to go so much deeper than that.

Had he said any of those thing out loud, Eve isn't sure if she'd spontaneously combust or if she'd throw all tact out the window and act. Is it possible to do both at the same time, or at least in close enough order that it might as well be at the same time?

The ninth is more of a rough timeline, than anything. Ten is a very comprehensive timeline, with only a few scribbles signifying that Buchannan messed up a date here and there. Eleven centers around the present, or what was the present. She feels her face burn; Buchannan mentions their excursions in such detail that she feels nearly ashamed for not paying that much attention. The compliments stack ('Why is she so beautiful? It's unfair, and she has no clue what she's doing to me.' 'Her eyes go all squinty when she's rambling. She thought I knocked over my cup because I didn't pay attention, but really I was just flustered.')

And then the twelfth came along, baton raised, and promptly smacked Eve into a human-shaped mess on the bed.

Everything that Buchannan wants to do is in that one. Eve has to take a break and calm down--he's very specific. He wants to move to the countryside, preferably to a farm. He wants to try swing dancing again. He wants to get married, have kids, and he makes sure to include that he really hates the name Archibald, and that there will be no Archibalds in his family. He wants domesticity and peace, and Buchannan's final blow is the last sentence.

'It won't be right without Eve there, but I don't think I could say that I love her, even if she seems like she feels the same.'

Eve doesn't remember running. She does remember knocking into who she's pretty sure is the queen, apologizing, and then--yeah, she was running.

She bursts into the lab. Buchannan is right there, looking like a ripoff Snow White, and Eve wastes no time in pressing her forehead against the glass. She stares down at his feet, catching her breath, and promptly decides that life has more to it than breathing.

"I have no idea if you retain any consciousness while in cryo, Buchannan, but I don't care. I'll say this when you're lucid, too. Just gotta settle for now." She heaves in a breath. "You're an absolute idiot. I am, too. We're--we can be idiots together. Y'know, two idiots on a Wakandan farm, tending the--I have no idea what they tend her, shit. It's off topic anyways. I love you, too. I'm in love with you. Feels great to say that, even if you can't hear me."

Obviously, Buchannan doesn't respond.

"I don't think Archibald is that bad of a name, there's a nice nickname for that. Archie." She presses her palm against the cold glass. "I do like the name Robert for a boy, and Scarlett for a girl. You know, when you're out of cryo, you're in for a surprise. Lots of them. We acted like a couple before, but I'm pretty done with acting like one. We can be a real couple, if you like. Go and dates. Make it official on Facebook. Well, not that last bit," she amends, "but I would very much like to be more than friends. I doubt you'd decline that offer, anyways, but saying this to you when you're not an icicle might be hard."

"Miss Robertson."

Eve catches sight of the reflection. Horrified, she realizes it's the woman she ran into earlier. The Queen of Wakanda.

She assaulted royalty. Are they... is she going to kill her?

By the smile on her face, no.

"Uh, hi, Miss Queen Black Panther, ma'am." How do you address people? What titles to Wakandan queens use? "I'm so sorry for knocking into you, Your Queenship, and I'm really sorry if this is completely out of line, or if I'm calling you the wrong things. I'm very American and haven't talked to many monarchs, Your Excellency."

Eve wrings her hands nervously. God, kill me now, she thinks miserably. Wait, no, don't do that. I have things I need to do first.

"Just call me Queen Ramonda or Queen Mother," she says, obviously very amused. "I am not upset. Curious, yes, and touched. You remind me of my daughter, should she ever have interest in something other than science. You are like my son as well. Your soul is quiet and strong."

"Ah. Uhm, yes, that's--swell, that is." Eve really needs to stop talking. She knows it, but she can't find it in herself to actually shut up. "You know Alpha Centauri is actually two stars orbiting each other so closely that early astronomers thought it was one star? It's actually Alpha and Beta Centauri, part of the constellations Centaurus, derived from the Greek mythological creature the centaur. That constellation actually depicts Chiron, I think--"

"Oh, there's no need to be so nervous." The queen walks over and peers in at Buchannan. "My son mentioned you wanting to become a resident of Wakanda."

"Uh, yeah--"

"Since you are a criminal in multiple countries, I cannot do that."

"Oh."

"But there is nothing against adoption."

"Um, what?" Eve remembers who she's speaking to. "Your Highness." Then, after a brief look Eve corrects herself again. "Queen Mother."

"I am going to adopt Sergeant James Barnes," the queen says fondly, "and since you two will be in a relationship, diplomatic immunity will be granted to you as well."

Eve manages to not say anything, finally. The queen continues on.

"T'Challa will be coronated in a few days. He wishes to have his old girlfriend there, however, so it will take a bit more time for that to take place what with his having to retrieve her. You cannot be there, as you are an outsider, but my daughter, Shuri, is excited to meet you. She admires your work with third-world countries and even the poor areas of your own home." There's a fondness in her voice that eases the stress from Eve's shoulders. "Until Sergeant Barnes is cured, you have a place here. Feel free to explore Wakanda, though it would be best if you dressed as we do, and if you had a translator."

Eve nods thoughtfully. "I'd like to learn Wakandan, actually. And, um, thank you a lot. For everything."

Queen Ramonda tuts. "No need to thank me, Miss Robertson. Thank Shuri and T'Challa, and settle for accompanying me to the odd outing."

With more grace than anyone Eve has ever seen, the queen of Wakanda walks away. Eve clears her throat.

"Well, then," she says weakly. "I, ah, well--I think I'll go to bed. Er, goodnight."

Eve feels very conscious of her slouch as she walks away. Her effort to fix it makes her languid steps stiff. A guard asks if she's okay.

~*~

Steve, Sam, and Wanda left sometime after Eve fell asleep. She isn't upset that there was no goodbye; she didn't treat them very fair, and she doesn't know any of them well enough to warrant any sort of stinginess about the sudden departure. Eve is fine with that; they left with a thin understanding between them, and that's enough.

T'Challa left, too, but for someplace else. Eve isn't authorized to know. She is authorized to go down to Buchannan as often and for as long as she wants. She strikes up one-sided conversations, eats every meal next to him, and even started to practice Wakandan while he stays comatose behind her. Eve is well aware that the team of scientists both pities her and are eager to talk to her. She was, after all, famous. She's still famous, in a way. Infamous. That's the word she was looking for. Still, they leave her be, and Eve is grateful for that.

Then a teenager comes in, nothing short of thrilled.

"You're Eve Robertson!" the teenager says needlessly. Eve nods, entirely certain that she's talking to a princess. "I'm Shuri. I love the work you've done--I used your models and tweaked them to make them better, for my people, and I've read all about the missions you've been on. Dubai, Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen, Tanzania, Democratic Republic of Condo, Somalia, Haiti, the Dominican Republic--and, of course, how you saw a broken white boy and completely disregarded every law forbidding you to help him."

Eve, again, nods quite dumbly. Then she finds her voice again. "Thank you, I think."

"Come on, stop sulking and talking to the icicle! You need to get proper Wakandan clothes and I am not letting Mother pick your outfits."

Eve has worked with teenagers before. None of them are anything like Shuri, who is not only smarter than Eve but twice as energetic. She doesn't mind, though, and the guards that tail the princess prove to be quite nice. Well, nice to Shuri, whose mischief could get a rise out of anyone. They seem disinterested in Eve. That's a good thing--they look terrifying in their beautiful armor, and Eve almost wants to shave her head in an attempt to look half as fierce as those women do.

Wakanda is beautiful. The city is alive with new, out of this world technology. The energy is clean and obviously powerful enough to sustain high-grade tech. The clothes range from t-shirts and jeans to robes of vibrant colors; some people have painted faces and others have traditional body alterations you can only find in Africa. Eve looks at the diversity, looks at the people, and she feels pride swell in her chest.

This. This is Africa.

Her mom is Kenyan. Eve wonders how many people here share a common ancestor with her.

Shuri helps Eve acquire a wardrobe--a small one, due to Eve's pleading--and comments on every outfit she tries on. These comments range from normal ("You look good in yellow.") to shocking ("Sergeant Barnes might faint if he sees you in that."). Eve doesn't admonish the princess, though, because she really doesn't want to push the limits of her stay. Also, Shuri looks like she can hold her own. She's geeky and sweet and intelligent, but Eve doesn't doubt that she knows how to kick ass.

After modeling for a few hours, Shuri drags Eve to lunch. Over it, she animatedly tells Eve about how she's going to fix Buchannan.

"HYDRA is so deeply rooted into Sergeant Barnes' mind that there's no safe way to selectively remove it physically," the princess powerhouse explains, "but I've developed an algorithm that can remove verbal triggers. It's adaptive and it can organically flush his mind without any harm to what remains of his psyche. The other trauma, emotional and physical, won't go away. He'll need intensive therapy and time, which is where you come in."

Eve pours a print out of Shuri's coding. It's more than she could ever string together, so she makes a strange noise that she means to be happiness and lets the princess talk some more.

"You made an impact on him while hindered by the government, but you're in Wakanda now. No restrictions. The village you two will be in already has a fair number of people, but we have a very talented psychologist and therapist named F'Abeo Okafor, but I call him Fab, mostly because he hates it. He'll be working with Barnes and you. The procedure itself will take a twenty-two hours. Defrosting him will take two, prepping him one, and waking him up four or five. Thirty hours at the most, then."

Eve stabs some meat into her mouth. Ox, she thinks, but she can't be sure. "Ok. Tell me what I need to do."

"Wear that yellow dress, the one with the cream trim."

She closes her eyes to gather control over her blush. "Shuri."

"What?" the princess scoffs. "I could have said you should wear nothing--"

"Shuri!"

The princes smirks. "Either way, tomorrow T'Challa will be back, and you'll be mostly alone in the labs or wherever it is you spend your time."

"Thanks, princess."

"No problem, American."

Something almost melancholy crosses the princess's expression. "You know, you used to be a lot more like my brother, in the old interviews. What happened?"

Eve hadn't been expecting that. Now that she thinks about it though, she did change. Buchannan had even picked up on it. It's... sad. Eve tries to find the exact moment where her attitude shifted from 'serving-and-submission-isn't-weakness' to 'if-they-want-a-criminal-then-they-have-one'.

"I let the world tell me what to be," she says finally. "And the world doesn't get to do that anymore."

~*~

The next couple days fly by. T'Challa is coronated. He and his ex-girlfriend Nakia--who is very nice and has made sure to get Eve's number--go on a mission with General Okoye. Eve doesn't know entirely what happens. She just knows that it went south, and that a few hours after they return to Wakanda, some stranger took over the throne.

Eve figured this out the hard way.

A pair of guards escorted her, without giving a reason, to the 'throne room'. A man is draped across it. He speaks English without a trace of a Wakandan accent.

"So, you're Eve Robertson. Where you are, the Winter Soldier is." The man stands up and saunters forward. Eve wills her hands not to shake; she keeps her posture as straight and relaxed as she can, tilts her head back, and looks the new king in the eye. "Mind telling me where he is?"

"Is that an order, King..." Eve trails off. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Erik."

"King Erik. If it is, I'd respectfully have to tell you that I'm not a Wakandan resident by law yet, and as such, orders from the leading parties of Wakanda don't apply to me."

He doesn't look angry. If anything, the quiet resistance seems to delight him. "'S that so, sweet cheeks?" His fingers touch her cheek. Eve inhales sharply, her mind reeling.

"Hey there, sweet cheeks!"

No. Those were shoddy HYDRA agents. This is... well, Eve doesn't really know who this is.

"Yes, King Erik, and I would prefer if you didn't touch me," she says ever so politely. His hand freezes but doesn't move. Eve sees the anger start to crawl up his neck and is quick to placate him. Actually, placate isn't the best of words. "I have a question, however. You're free not to answer, obviously, though I would rather you did."

Finally, the hand falls. "Hit me, pretty lady."

His voice isn't flirty anymore. It's edging on wrath.

Eve looks him in the eye.

"Why drag me here when any faculty member could show you the way?"

He shrugs. "I can do whatever I want, can't I? And I wanted to meet the legendary Eve Robertson in real life. I met you once in Iraq. I held down one of my comrades while you looked at what was left of his left arm and leg. Remember that?"

Eve thinks back. "I... yes, I do. I'm sorry if I was rude."

"Think of how many more people you could save," he says lowly, shifting closer than necessary. His breath smells like spearmint. "A great mind like yours here would be a gift to Wakanda. I'd get you citizenship, let your Soldier stay cost free, and all you'd have to do is fix up whoever I send to you."

Eve looks over his shoulder, at Okoye. There's something amiss in her expression and Eve knows she's unhappy, she's worried, and the American nods just slightly.

"King Erik, this wouldn't be happening if there wasn't an ultimatum."

"Ooh, clever," he chuckles. He sweeps back to his throne. "I like when people know they're being played with. Either you accept or I make Barnes suffer. I won't make it quick, and right when he's on the brink of death, I'll switch to you."

There's a cruel look in Erik's eyes. It's wedged in the tiny gaps of his teeth, turning his smile into something sinister.

"I know all sorts of tricks from my time in the military. You might act all polite and brave up here, sweet cheeks, but you ain't shit. You'd beg within the first five minutes. So, what's it going to be?"

Eve knows a promise when she hears one. She heard it when her dad told her to get out of his life. She heard it when Buchannan said they'd make it out alive. And this, this right here? Eve doesn't have too much of a choice.

She lowers her head to hide her clenched jaw.

"Whatever you ask for, King Erik."

Okoye's grip tightens on her spear. She understands. When Eve raises her head, they make brief eye contact, and Eve is taken aback at the harshness in the general's face and the respect in her eyes.

Eve is not a warrior in the physical sense, but Okoye seems to think there's more than one type of fighter. She's completely correct.

A few hours fly by. T'Challa comes back from the dead. There's a fight that Eve hears but doesn't participate in; instead, she runs through the city and ushers citizens to safer places. Erik dies a free man. T'Challa is reinstated. Eve meets an intimidating man named M'Baku, who makes it clear that Eve is welcome wherever she goes, mostly because Eve was the one to help patch up his wife after the battle was finished. M'Baku also introduced his eldest son to Eve, who had to explain that she's flattered but really not up for marriage.

Shuri starts the procedure. Eve is told to move into her new home in a rural village--it's a goat farming town, she notices with immeasurable happiness--and wait for Buchannan to be delivered. In that time, she speaks Wakandan fluently with the natives. They welcome her with open arms; Eve quickly becomes known as a 'mother' by the locals. The children, teenaged and infant and anything in between, cling to her. They also learned not to disobey or disrespect Eve, which led to much laughter among the kids' parents.

Sometime in the afternoon, a jet landed. Buchannan was carried into Eve's newly set-up hut and left to wake up on his own. Shuri stayed behind to talk about Wakanda's arrival into the media as a first-world-country, the programs they were starting, and all the good things that were going to happen. Eve fought to listen.

She wanted to make sure Buchannan was comfortable. She wanted to keep him company.

Nervousness is eating her alive.

"You know, he isn't going to reject you," Shuri pointed out over a small supper. "The man is obviously smitten."

"Still nerve-wracking, princess."

Eve decides to distract herself. She gives one of the new mothers a much-needed break by looking after her two-week-old boy.

"Lebed'."

She nearly drops the baby. Thank God she doesn't.

Buchannan is looking at her so softly, his posture relaxed and his smile so gentle that Eve, just for a moment, stops breathing. Then she sees Shuri behind him, smirking like the Devil on Mondays.

"G'morning, Buchannan," she says, trying to ignore the very obvious princess. "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby." He walks closer and looks down at the boy. Unsurely, he looks back at Eve, who melts.

"Go on ahead. His name is Adeyemi."

Buchannan lightly touches one of the silky curls on the boy's head. When the baby gurgles and waves his fists around like every happy baby, Buchannan laughs and lets the infant grab his finger.

"He's so tiny."

"They don't come out full sized," Eve teases. Buchannan seems to glow in the sunset. He's the happiest and calmest she's ever seen him, and Eve loves it. She loves him. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Hm? Oh, no, I just got up. Bunch of kids were staring at me." His smile turns lopsided. "I think one of them put my hair up."

Eve nods approvingly at the half-bun. "Looks good, but you need to eat."

Shuri starts to sing quietly. "Ooh love, ooh lover-boy--"

"Shuri."

The princess straightens up in shock at the sharpness in Eve's voice. She then looks down like any scolded teenager would, mumbles an apology, and excuses herself to go back home. Eve sighs.

"I love the girl, but holy shit."

Buchannan kisses Eve's forehead. His lips stay there; he talks against her skin, saying that he won't go away again, and his remaining arm holding her waist. Eve relaxes against him. She told herself she'd wait a bit before blurting out anything, but the moment feels--

The mother comes out to take her baby. Eve bites back a particularly inventive string of words.

Every time.

Buchannan is still smiling when he eats his stew, and Eve still finds the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Every time one of us starts to test the boundaries, we end up interrupted." Buchannan pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth. Eve plows on, leaning forward so her elbows are on her knees. No stopping, this time. "Back in Sokovia, I told you that you meant a lot to me. I meant to say that I was falling in love with you."

He stares. The spoon falls back into the bowl.

"I told you I'd always remember for you. That was my way of saying that no matter how bad our situation gets, no matter how bad your outlook on yourself and everything around you gets, I'll be there," she continues, happy that her voice is as calm as it is. Her heart is racing. "I realized I was in love with you, that it was more than a crush, when I got out of the Raft. I thought that you were going to ask to date me, too. Instead you said you were going into cryo, and I felt like shit."

"Eve..."

She waves her hand. "Lemme talk, please. I felt like shit, but mostly because I was being selfish for thinking you were better with me than in a lab getting help. I felt a bit hurt, yeah, and for a bit I doubted that you felt the same. Then I thought, 'Nah,' and went to where you were frozen and spilled my guts. I promised I'd say it again when you were able to listen, too. Rehearsed this and everything."

"Eve."

"Hold on, I'm almost finished--"

With the swiftness only assassins and James Bond have, he's kneeling in front of Eve, his hand on her face. He's smiling widely, his face cast in shadow by torchlight, and Eve is successfully silenced.

"Eve," he says almost giddily, "I love you so much."

She laughs, nodding her head. "I know. That's part of the reason I'm saying all this."

"You're such an idiot."

"Careful, Buchannan, that's an insult."

"Will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. His eyes actually seem to shine. It's ridiculous. He's ridiculous. Hell, this is. He looks like a schoolboy who just got a smile from his first crush.

Eve laughs again, mostly at the previous thought. "Of course, Buchannan."

"Can I kiss you?"

"I don't think I can stop smiling enough for that," she admits. The absurdity of the situation squeezes more giggles from her chest. "This is so stupid."

Bucky hugs her tightly. Eve closes her eyes at the seemingly endless stream of Russian things he says. She's rusty on Russian, but she catches a few bits. Terms of endearment, 'thank you' and 'I love you'. Eve admits, she's soaring so high that she has no clue what else he's saying. She can only focus on the absurdity of them, and the wonderful fact that there is officially a 'them'.

The moment is ruined by the flash of a camera. Eve takes off after Shuri without a second thought, feeling lighter than air. She isn't even mad, really. But she makes sure that Shuri is gone before going back to Buchannan.

She and Buchannan stay up late, looking at the stars and the sleeping goats. They don't talk much. They sit, pressed up against each other, and bask in the moment.

They're free. They're healing.

They're together.


	34. |CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO|

Bucky wakes up to the sun and the sound of birds. He squints against the light, trying to understand why he's wet and why he's not on a bed. Then he remembers the previous night. Waking up with something weightless in his mind; walking with Shuri down to a cluster of tents; seeing Eve—beautiful, stunning Eve—holding a newborn, the picture of what he wants in life; her awkward, fumbling confession over dinner; Shuri running from Eve's not-quite-fury; sitting and just being until they both drifted off.

The wet is dew. He cranes his neck to the side, feeling an overwhelming amount of happiness when he looks at Eve. Dewdrops cling to her eyelashes; Bucky wants to kiss her, wake her up in a way he'd imagined more than once. More than twice, too, if he's being honest.

He does. Not on her lips—he's going to wait for that one—but on her cheek. She shifts, grumbling something in what sounds like Wakandan, and Bucky kisses her forehead to try and wake her up fully.

It works. Eve cracks her eyes open, blinks away sleep's haze, and kisses his nose. Bucky raises his eyebrows at that but doesn't question it. Instead, he smiles and says, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she murmurs, rolling onto her back. She laces their fingers together.

For a moment longer, the pair—no, couple—enjoy the early glow of dawn and the too-happy notes of the birds. Bucky is the one to end it, though. He sits himself up and stretches with a grimace.

"I wouldn't trade last night for the world, but I don't think I'll be sleeping in the grass again," he comments, chuckling at Eve's affirmative noise. "What even was that?"

She swats his chest, still on her back. There's no effort in the hit. Bucky holds back another laugh.

"C'mon," he prompts, grazing her cheek with his knuckle. "I don't know if I'm getting tossed into everything immediately or not. Gotta find out." Eve scrunches up her nose. Bucky's heart melts. As adorable as she is, they still need to get up. Bucky tries something new. "Lebed'..."

He feels very accomplished. The moment he uses the nickname, she twists onto her side and hauls herself up. There's a glow in her eyes, crafting topaz out of her irises, and now Bucky can place the emotion. Love.

Eve trudges by his side. Bucky is used to keeping his pace slow for her; he's not used to the lack of a heavy metal arm, however, and the 'swagger' (It was actually a limp, due to the weight difference of his arms) has been replaced with something of a shuffle.

It's strange. Apparently, as Eve explains during their walk back to the village, they took out everything. The wiring, the metal plates, even bits of old shrapnel that he hadn't known were there. He can tell Eve is annoyed that she wasn't the one to do the manual labor, but she still speaks fondly of Shuri's skill and... well, of Shuri. T'Challa had forced his little sister to let Bucky and Eve design the new prosthetic for the most part, though that's a long way coming.

The arm had made Bucky feel alien, in some ways, and complete in others. Now, it's gone. If this had happened a couple months ago, Bucky would have been worried about what Eve thought of the situation. In the present, he's unconcerned. If Eve never objected to the 'homeless look' then she won't find a problem with this. She might even be excited to help him get used to it. That was her line of work, after all.

Breakfast is bread and fruit. Eve rambles over it; Bucky watches with a smile so wide his face hurts.

"--going to teach them how to make some other foods, I think. I don't think they like that the kids and I named the goats, seeing as they aren't pets, but they have names now and I will not take them away. Anyways, if someone doesn't come to tell us the game plan, then we can walk up to the city."

"That's a long walk," he comments. "You sure you'd make it?"

The offense on her face is hilarious. "We ran across Sokovia while it was falling out of the sky. I can handle a hike."

"Could you handle a date?" She waggles her eyebrows. Bucky fights back a laugh. That was meant to be serious. "You can show me around Wakanda. We can go to one of the restaurants, maybe, and... why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I love you," she says quietly. The look is still in place. A small smile that doesn't show her teeth, her head tilted slightly to the left, eyebrows furrowed just so. "I thought I would be the hopeless romantic out of us, but it looks like I was wrong."

"That's not being a hopeless romantic, it's called properly dating someone."

"Well, properly date me with a guide, because I didn't really explore Wakanda."

"What?" He finds that hard to believe. Eve loves learning and seeing things. The sweet smile falters, and he understands why. "You could have done stuff. You didn't have to stay with me, I wasn't even conscious."

She shrugs. "Didn't matter. You were still there."

Bucky tries not to think about how much that hurt her.

He fails.

Eve notices, like she always does, and scoots forward. She kisses his cheek. Bucky doesn't let her move away; instead, he holds her hand and kisses the back of it. A little gesture convey a lot of regret.

"Buchannan?"

"Yes?"

"Mind if I try an experiment?"

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "There's not much to experiment with, since the arm's gone."

"I wasn't referring to the arm."

Oh. Bucky's chest feels like there's balloons inside of it. Count on Eve to ask for a kiss like that, he thinks fondly, watching the gentle, sweet expression on her face turn into something a little more thoughtful and borderline calculating. "By all means," he invites, and Eve leans forward.

And kisses the corner of his mouth.

He gapes openly at her. She's smirking, very happy with herself. "You're a tease."

"It's not being a tease," she drawls, leaning back, "it's called properly dating someone."

He's about to go for a real kiss--Eve doesn't look like she'd say no, and her playful mischief is more inviting than he would ever admit to her--when he notices someone walking towards them. They stick out like a sore thumb, and not in the way that royalty does. The man is tall and large, with a head full of dreadlocks and a hand gripping a briefcase. His suit is what really sets him apart. Three-piece, looks like silk. Bucky has a feeling that this is his therapist.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes, Ms. Robertson," the man says in an unsurprisingly deep voice. "I am Doctor F'Abeo Okafor. We met briefly in the lab, Miss Robertson."

Bucky watches Eve sort through her brain. Then she nods, all lightheartedness leaving her. She reverts to the polite, charming Eve that usually makes an appearance with anyone she doesn't know very well. "Yes, thank you again for the coffee."

"Anytime, Ms. Robertson. Mr. Barnes--"

"Bucky. If you don't mind."

"Bucky," Dr. Okafor amends, "we have much to discuss. Would you prefer to go to my office or stay here? There is also the choice of having Ms. Robertson during our sessions, should you decide you want her company."

Eve finds his hand. Bucky understands what she's saying ("If you don't want me there, that's perfectly fine.") and gives her hand a light squeeze to respond ("Thank you for understanding.").

"Your office, Dr. Okafor."

Eve's name is called by one of the mothers. Without hesitation, Bucky's girlfriend--God, he'll never get tired of saying that--runs over and takes a screaming newborn from the mother's arms. Bucky hesitates a moment, watching with what he can place as longing as Eve expertly soothes the baby. Well, tries. She bounces a bit and sways from side to side; he sees her mouth moving and wonders what she's telling it.

"Are you ready, Bucky? My office is not too far."

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Reluctantly, he follows his new therapist. Psychiatrist. Is there a difference? He'll have to ask.

The office is a small, thatched hut on the other side of the lake. Bucky realizes that it's a new construction immediately. Wakanda's architects--probably Shuri, now that he thinks about it--designed and built this place for him. There's three seats, a table, and a small shelving unit. For being made out of wood, the chairs are actually pretty comfortable. Much better than the ground, at least.

"So, I will start with explaining what has been done. After that, we will talk about the future, like game plans and goals." Dr. Okafor opens up the briefcase. He pulls out a thick binder. "This is your file. It has everything there is to know about you in it."

"Ok."

"What has been done... Princess Shuri has managed to flush the verbal triggers from your mind. Your memories should still be intact, and so will the physical triggers. Do you know any of those?"

Bucky is starting to wish Eve was with him. He knows that she keeps track of that--he's been more concerned with managing his mind that his reactions, so that's a blank page for him. "No."

"Would Ms. Robertson?"

"Yes."

"You know you can answer with more than one word, I hope."

"Yeah, I know."

Dr. Okafor smiles. There's an extra tooth poking his upper lip. "My wife is like you. Not many words. Eve is watching our grandson," he informs, obviously very proud. "She will be a good mother."

Bucky's gaze drifts to the side. "Yeah," he says softly, "she will be."

"Ok, Bucky, let's go over everything..."

He does. Bucky listens to everything. The procedures he underwent are extensive and also experimental. What else is new? Anyways, he is quite surprised to hear that construction for a new arm is already underway. And... well, thinking of another high-tech prosthetic reminds him of getting the first one. He remembers the maintaining of it in HYDRA, how the panels ripped skin and shirts, how the strength of it was never controlled until he was free.

"Bucky? Do you not like the ideas?"

"I don't want another prosthetic," he says darkly. His hand is fisted on his lap. His breathing, he notes, is a bit quick, and he focuses on slowing it. "I'll only get one if I have to."

Dr. Okafor nods. He jots something down. "Of course. Tell me about your plans for the future."

"Got a notebook full of those."

"Ms. Robertson has confiscated them. When asked to turn them over, she said that was up to you." Dr. Okafor smiles. He seems to do a lot of that, doesn't he?

Bucky thinks about it. "Can I just tell you?"

"Mhm."

He tells him. He trails off now and then, goes on multiple rabbit trails, but the effect is the same. Bucky does leave out hating the name Archibald, and how he would like Eve to be with him throughout the rest of his life, because those two tidbits seem more personal. It all does, really, but those two most of all.

"Well, our hour is up." Dr. Okafor puts the binder back in the briefcase. "We will meet every other morning for two months. Then, after, it will be one a week every month, unless otherwise stated. Since you do not want the arm, you won't have any need for measurements and appointments in the city, though you are free to look around."

"Thanks, doc."

As Bucky walks back, he notices Eve in the water surrounded by a mass of children. They're having a water fight. Bucky can't tell if Eve is purposefully losing or if she's overpowered by the swarm of kids; either way, the scene is something he'll never forget.

Eve shouts something in Wakandan. Bucky didn't know she'd learned it, and he wonders how many other languages she's learned. Hopefully not Russian--he's used that often in the past, mostly to comment on Eve and Eve-like happenings.

She gets dunked. When she doesn't resurface, the kids start looking worried. Then she shoots up, tackles the largest of the kids, and drags him under. The laughter resumes.

Bucky doesn't join in willingly. One moment, Eve is staring at him with the dopiest of smiles. The next, she's running towards him. Bucky knows her motive, but there's no way her scrawny ass can move him if he doesn't want to be moved, so he lets her tug his arm towards the lake. To his shock, she begs him to 'join in' and 'get wet'.

He has an idea.

"I could," he muses, grinning lopsidedly down at Eve, "if there was something in it for me."

"You get to spend time with me?"

"I can do that until I'm dead."

Slyly, she lets go and inches towards the water's edge. Eve's caught on to his game and is more than happy to play, it would seem.

"I could bargain a hug?" she offers. One foot away from the water. "Or a handshake, if that's more up your alley." She's in the water now, up to her ankles. "Isn't it French tradition to kiss cheeks?"

"I'll agree to the handshake."

Bucky decides to end it. He darts forward, lifts Eve up with one-arm, and cuts her shriek off by tossing her into the lake. She comes up looking like the Grudge; her mouth is open, caught on one offended noise or another, and Bucky doesn't wait to hear it. He sits down on the edge, legs in the water, and looks expectantly at Eve.

"You owe me a handshake."

She sputters. The kids start mocking her; at her eye-roll and quick reprimand, they start roughhousing with each other. Eve points an accusatory finger at Bucky.

"You aren't in the water."

"Oh, I'm in the water, I'm just not submerged in it."

Eve narrows her eyes. She can't keep up the façade, though, and promptly laughs. "Ok, I'll have to outwit you next time. Unless this is payback for this morning?"

"I dunno what you mean."

She splashes him. "Course you don't."

Eve sits beside him. The pair watch the kids for a few minutes, lost in thought, before Eve breaks it.

"You wrote that you wanted kids." Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He feels Eve's gaze drift over to his face, but he's intently focused on what appears to be the beginnings of a chicken fight. "I've always liked kids. When I was working at AutoLimbs and was helping people--"

"Illegally," he butts in, sending a teasing look Eve's way. Unlike Steve, who would deny the claim, Eve smirks and raises her chin in the most smug of ways.

"When I illegally aided the human population, there was a girl I saw every week. She was the sweetest. I babysat her once or twice, though I stopped once I started getting assassins in my apartment on the odd night. Big fan of kids, me."

"Unless they almost run into traffic."

"That was one time, and I was about to tell you that I loved you. If I didn't have a strong moral compass--stop laughing!"

Naturally, Bucky doesn't stop laughing, and Eve doesn't stop smiling. When they both calm down, she keeps going.

"Excluding those random instances in which children annoy me, I do love them. I found out that guys couldn't give birth when I was five and apparently comforted Adam by telling him I'd have four children. Two for the ones he couldn't have and two for me. I still think four's a good number, you know. But I could never name a child Archibald."

Bucky, very acutely, feels his loss of words. Eve makes up for that as she always does.

"Obviously, kids are a way off for me, but your writing never mentioned how many you wanted."

Two, but if you want four or five or more I won't say no. "Uh," he says instead, once again wishing he could figure out how to speak his mind. Sometimes it feels easy. Others, like with this, it feels impossible.

Eve nods sagely. "I agree. 'Uh' is a perfect amount of offspring."

Of course, the sarcasm helps. Bucky rolls his eyes. "Why did I fall in love with you again?"

"Well," she says quietly, "I believe it had something to do with how my eyes go all squinty when I smile, and how my rambling tends to make you flustered. No?"

His face is hot. What happened to the 1940s flirt? Where is he? "You--uh, I... you memorized that?"

"I'm not nearly as smart as Shuri, but if something is interesting to me then I soak it up like Spongebob. Um, he's a cartoon," she explains, swishing her hand through the water. "His full name is Spongebob SquarePants. I can't believe I never showed you that," she mutters to herself.

Bucky wonders what else she's memorized. He knows the expressions she wears very well, from the 'pissed-but-patient' smile to the 'if-I-forget-to-do-laundry-again-I-will-destroy-Ohio' scowl and everything else. Right now, she has her focused face on. She has this when she's researching, working, or thinking. And she's using it on him, bottom lip between her teeth and eyes narrowed.

"What's running through your head?" he asks, briefly taking a moment to push aside the fact that she's unfairly attractive.

"I'm thinking that I'm very happy that you aren't just my international criminal friend anymore, and that I have a lot of stuff to remember and learn about you."

He raises his eyebrows. One of the kids loses the chicken fight; he hears a great splashing and the screams of the victorious. A glorious battle. "What kind of stuff?"

"C'mon, Buchannan," she says, mirroring his expression, save for the interested confusion. "We've both dated before. It's new every time, or it is for me, at least. The last serious relationship I had was when I was in college, finishing up my last semester, and it lasted for ten months. He liked rom coms and pick up trucks, like every true country boy, and if I suggested he buy something that isn't Ford he would get all pouty."

"What's his got to do with learning about me?"

"You don't seem to love Ford pickups, but you might be like Billy in that you prefer traditional dates and forehead kisses over everything else. Him being asexual wasn't a problem, we split up because I mentioned superior lineups one too many times and said that I really hated Fifty First Dates, but that's not the point." Eve waves her hand like she's trying to fan away bad gas. "My point is, I get to learn what you like and don't like in a relationship, and I can take my time now that we both are protected by the most advanced country in the world."

Bucky thinks back to his past relationships. He thinks about Eve. He can be smooth, right? He can be as charming as he was, even if he was a nerd back in the day.

"It's been over five years since we've known each other. You can take your time, because I will too, but you don't have to go slow. I might be pretty fucked up, but you know I'm not fragile. We go at whatever pace feels right for the both of us, and I'm telling you that snail's pace isn't fast enough."

She blinks at him, processes what he said, and clears her throat. "No snail's pace. Got it. How about, like, Chupacabra pace?" Bucky's face contorts as he tries to keep from laughing. Eve quickly starts explaining: "The Chupacabra is a creature that kills goats and appears really suddenly, it's folklore. I'm not saying we kill goats at random, I'm suggesting we jump around a bit to see how slow or fast we want to go."

"Yes, Eve," he agrees, finally able to keep a straight face. "We can go Chupacabra paced."

She scowls. There's nothing behind it. Not even when she mumbles, "The moment we can work around physical triggers, I'm getting the kids to ambush you."

Hope is the best feeling in the world, Bucky thinks. Hope, and safety.

Eve is safe. She's safe, and she always has been.

Eve finds it hard not to stare at Buchannan. He looks so happy and at peace. The long hair suits him, surprisingly, and the beard fits, too. She can't not stare at his smile, small and more radiant than Alpha Canis Majoris with its -1.46 magnitude. She stares as they eat lunch and then sit down again in their tent to talk.

He talks about the dates he wants to go on with her. Moonlit walks through the open fields; morning races through the village; swimming in the lake; exploring Wakanda in its fullest; romantic dinners; noontime picnics in the shelter of some tree or another; dining at a restaurant in the city; dancing wherever, whenever, and for as long as they can. He talks about stargazing and farming and how he wants to store every moment they have somewhere he will never forget.

Eve tells him about how she's always wanted to go to aquariums and zoos and parks, and how she wants to eat at the sketchiest places possible just to feel a bit of adrenaline. She tells him about quiet evenings where they sit and read together, close as they can be; about sneaky kisses and enough flirting and teasing to make everyone hate them; about laying next to each other, maybe playing with his hair or having shapes drawn onto her hip.

Buchannan recounts his past, even though Eve read all about it. Eve does the same for Buchannan, even mentioning the parts that make sadness well up from the pits of her soul. She tells him about how she started loving the color blue more than every other because of his eyes; he admits that he still doesn't have a favorite color, but that he thinks yellow looks stunning on Eve. Yellow, and flannel.

Throughout their talking, Eve can't look away. Neither can Buchannan.

Dinner rolls around. Eve shows Buchannan how to hold an infant. She forgets to breathe or talk at the overwhelming look he gives the baby. Longing, happiness, gentleness. She remembers to when one of the mothers asks when she might give him a child, since he seems to be a natural father.

That night, they end up sleeping properly. Eve delights in every brush of their skin; it's not new, but it still feels like it. It will settle down, she knows. The 'honeymoon phase' will end. Everything will calm down, become familiar--or at least more familiar--and Eve takes solace in the fact that Buchannan's heart is beating just as fast as her own.

She falls into dreams of marathon racing and surfing tidal waves with Rob Lowe.

Bucky stays awake a little longer. He listens to the chirp of crickets and rustle of the villagers settling down for the night. There's the odd giggle of kids trying to stay up or sneak out, the sharp shushing of tired adults, and then it's quiet. That's when Bucky falls asleep.

He dreams of trenches and ballerinas, ice cream cones and Eve's unrestrained laughter.

In the city, Shuri starts making a Skype account.


	35. |CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE|

The next week is, for lack of a better term, Chupacabra paced.

First and foremost, there's the therapy. Bucky likes Dr. Okafor; their second session consisted of twenty-questions and bit of mancala so the pair could get to know each other. Eve was there for the third session; she explained, very uncomfortably, what some of the physical triggers are.

She doesn't mention how she found them out. Bucky doesn't mention the times she wakes up abruptly from what he assumes are bad dreams, just like he doesn't mention how she has been religiously depriving herself of rest. The fourth session is spent figuring out how to overcome those triggers through exposure, breathing, and re-routing thought processes.

Secondly, there's the Skype situation. Shuri had dragged them out the day after that first session to show him how to use a laptop, which he thoughtfully pretended to not know how to operate. The main reason for the laptop excursion is to give Steve and Bucky a way to talk; they did for hours and hours. They can't do it daily, for security reasons, but once a week will suffice.

Thirdly, there's the Wakandan queen's adoption papers. Bucky guesses his new 'native' name is White Wolf, seeing as it's what the villagers call him, and seeing as that's what he was told to sign. The queen then takes him and Eve into the city for clothes and sightseeing. They go back to their hut and settle down for the night.

It's day eight of being awake. Bucky wakes up because of Eve's harsh awakening; unlike the other nights, where he pretends not to notice or when he pulls her closer for some sort of comfort, he talks.

They need to. It's not like Bucky hasn't noticed her tearing her hands apart and working until she passes out for a thirty-minute nap.

He rests his chin on her shoulder. His hand combs back sweat-matted hair and settles on her thigh, stroking small circles. Eve is hunched forward, head in her hands. She breathes unevenly, then shallowly, then normally. Her body doesn't relax into his touch like Bucky had hoped. He tries not to let that sting.

"We need to talk about this, Lebed'," he murmurs, shuffling so he's kneeling in front of her instead of behind her. He carefully takes her wrist and pulls it away from her mouth. "I know I'm messed up, and I know that my problems are pretty major, but it doesn't make yours any lesser. They're still important." Softer toned, he brushes the tears from her cheeks. "Please, talk to me."

"I dunno why I get 'em now, Buchannan," she says hoarsely. Her hands reach forward and hold on to his shoulders, like she's affirming that he's there. "They're just bad dreams. Let's go back to bed."

"They started when you went with me to that one session."

"Buchannan..."

There's pain in her eyes. He remembers her telling him about how obsidian is made. Lava cools rapidly and forms that beautiful, sharp volcanic glass. He wants to tell her that she doesn't have to downgrade her problems for him, and that they should talk about them. Somehow, he finds his words.

"What're the nightmares about?"

She seems to understand there's no evading the topic any longer. She drops her head to his chest.

"Erik, the guy that almost killed T'Challa? He, uh, pulled me to the side. If I played toy maker you wouldn't get hurt. I managed to push that back, y'know? Then we started talking with Dr. Okafor and it just kinda... it sort of came up again, in my subconscious. And in my regular conscious. But 's not a big deal," she adds very unconvincingly.

Bucky closes his eyes. "You're dreaming about me getting tortured."

"To put it bluntly."

A thick silence blankets them for a second. Four seconds go by, actually, before Eve fills it.

"I know it's not real, when I wake up, but part of me wonders if HYDRA did any of what I dream to you. Well, not wonders. I read the journals. I know what they did, and that's what makes them nightmares, really. They carry on into real life. The past is still real life, I mean. Jus' upsets me. But it's not a big deal." The slight increase of pressure in her grip suggests otherwise, among multiple other clues.

"What can I do?" he asks, unsure of how to fix this. He wants to. He doesn't like seeing Eve this upset, especially not over him. But they're dreams.

"Well, you can not go back to HYDRA." The weak attempt at humor doesn't help. She gets serious again. "I dunno, Buchannan, but right now can you just hold me?"

He lays back down. Eve follows seamlessly, like they'd done this thousands of time. They've done it hundreds of times by now. She sinks right into him, as close as she can, and Bucky uses his arm as a pillow for Eve's head. Outside, crickets chirp. Everything is quiet. Eve falls asleep eventually. Bucky doesn't.

He used to keep vigils in her apartment for multiple reasons. As the Winter Soldier, it was to make sure no one came in and she didn't contact anyone. As himself, it was to ensure her safety. Now, it's to be prepared for if she wakes up again. She doesn't, thankfully, but Bucky still doesn't sleep. He does formulate a very nice idea to remedy this situation, however, and in the morning he doesn't just talk to his therapist. He talks to Shuri, too.

The day after that, the plan is set into motion. Shuri drags Eve of for a 'girl's day'. Bucky gets everything ready for their first official date.

He wants to do something classic, romantic, and not too cheesy. The not too cheesy part is impossible to accomplish, however, because it's James Buchannan Barnes we're talking about here. If they had science fairs in Wakanda, that'd be his ideal first date, but since they don't...

A nice evening picnic, a little further from the village to give them some privacy, complete with a portable speaker to use for music. He'll teach her how to dance, and then they can just relax for a while. It'll be sweet and simple. Since he dropped the wine in his nervousness, it'll settle for being almost perfect. He even got flowers. They're wildflowers, of course, and they're held in place by a bit of twine, but it's still flowers, right? It'll work?

Bucky knows he's over thinking everything. He doesn't say it aloud, nor does he feel any sort of shame for nitpicking everything.

This is his first date since the forties. It's his first date with someone he actually loves. Let the man panic a bit.

The moment Bucky hears two voices nearing the little spot, he straightens up and forces himself not to show his bit of nervousness. Shuri and Eve come into sight; as soon as Eve's laugh falters, Shuri is booking it for the way she came.

"Hi," Bucky says, grinning like a fool. "Dunno what flowers you like, so I just got some daisies. I think they're daisies, at least."

She carefully takes the bouquet. "Thank you, Buchannan."

Charming, be charming.

No, be you.

"You're welcome, Lebed'. Shall we?"

He offers his arm. Eve doesn't seem amused; if anything, she seems flattered. Good thing, too, otherwise he's doing this wrong.

In place of wine, they drink sparkling grape juice from long-stemmed glasses. Their food is an old favorite of Bucky's. Hot dogs. Hot dogs, chips, and baked beans. As any picnic date should have, he even got a checkered blanket to sit on. Eve doesn't talk too much; Bucky isn't worried. In fact, now that the date is well on its way, he's calm and happy and overall ecstatic. He knows she's probably at a loss for words.

It makes him unspeakably proud.

"So," he begins, wiping his mouth. "I wanna turn the tables, for once. Instead of you teaching me something, I'm gunna teach you a thing or two."

Eve smiles widely. "Teach away."

He stands up, taking Eve with him, and digs around his pockets for the phone Shuri let him borrow. Or have, he isn't sure. Either way, it's not there, and Bucky flushes from his toes to the roots of his hair.

"Plan B. I, uh, don't have music to go with this, but I'll teach you anyways. We'll start with the Charleston." More to himself than Eve, Bucky recounts the steps. "Alright, palms facing the floor. Step forward with your left foot and tap your right foot in front of it. Yeah, like that. Then, you step backwards with your right foot and tap your left behind it. Now, just swing your arms around as you move. Gotta twist a bit, too. Balance on the balls of your feet, move your heels in and out as you step, and repeat until the song's done."

Surprisingly, Eve doesn't exaggerate her movements like he'd thought she would. She executes the dance fairly well, for her first time. He notices Shuri had forced her to play dress up. The princess isn't slick, but she did get Eve in a nice sundress. Pale yellow, like candle wax, and of a modest make.

"What happens next?"

"Next, you do it with a partner."

The first few times are slow and filled with mistakes. Eve doesn't get discouraged, amazingly; she laughs at her mistakes and takes to mimicking Bucky quickly. He starts humming a tune for them to dance by. Soon enough, they're moving in increasingly fluidity, and Bucky has to laugh.

"You're ma was right," he informs, not even close to out of breath, "you really would've been a good dancer."

Eve, on the other hand, is panting a bit. She seems to glow with happiness. "You, sir, were a flirt in the forties and you still are," she accuses. Her grin doesn't diminish in the slightest. "C'mon, teach me another."

"You think you can keep up?"

For lack of a better comeback, Eve mocks him in a deep, cracking voice that sends them both into gales of laughter.

Bucky does teach her a few more dances. The Lindy Hop, which is similar to the Charleston, and the Shag. Eve giggles at that last one; throughout that dance, she makes multiple innuendos that most definitely don't make Bucky smirk. He most definitely doesn't find it funny, or attractive.

Hell, who's going to hurt him if he does? The gal's beautiful and sly and she sure knows it. She's also, at heart, a ten-year-old boy. Well, she is with the immature jokes, at least.

When Eve is completely out of breath, they sit down on the blanket again to cool down. Bucky's heart is beating fast and it has nothing to do with the dancing. It does a bit, really, but it's not the main factor in this particular equation. His next words are.

"Was this a good first date?"

"No," she jokes, grinning over at him. "It was terrible, and I expect a refund."

He nods grimly. He can't wipe the stupid, lovesick expression off his face. Doesn't much want to, either. "Sorry to hear. I can think of a good refund."

"What's that?"

"It's Chupacabra paced," he informs. "Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Helps if I know what the Chupacabra paced-refund is, though."

Bucky cups her face, leans forward, and brushes his lips across hers. He stays there a moment, waiting with closed eyes and bated breath. A moment is all it takes for Eve to tip her head closer, one hand on his jaw and the other at the back of his neck.

"Боже, я хочу жениться на тебе," he whispers. They're forehead to forehead, noses inconveniently in the way, and Bucky would have it no other way. He clears his throat to get rid of the rough tones in his voice and quickly corrects himself by speaking English instead of Russian. He doesn't translate his previous statement, for his own sake. "I love you, Eve."

"I love you too."

He kisses her cheek, dropping his hand to his lap. Eve holds his hand. He loves her. He wants, one day, to marry her.

Eve wants to marry him, too.

She doesn't tell him that, in English or otherwise, because this is their first date. Years of chemistry and friendship and repressed feelings isn't going to change that. Chupacabra paced. Further on, she'll tell him, "Боже, я хочу жениться на тебе." She knows his reaction will be priceless. She knows she'll be the happiest woman alive on that day, too.

For now, she walks hand-in-hand with Buchannan back to their tent. She sleeps soundly, with no nightmares and a lot of swing dancing related dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Боже, я хочу жениться на тебе. | God, I want to marry you.


	36. |CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR|

"So, you finally took her on a date?"

"Yes, Steve, and don't be so loud. You're sharing a room with Wilson and I really don't want to hear what he has to say on the matter."

"Did you kiss her?"

"Maybe."

Steve has that shit-eating grin on his face again. After losing most of the Avengers, including Stark, he'd gotten depressed. He hasn't taken care of himself as well as he should have. The beard is a new development, one that Bucky isn't sure he likes or not. He's only ever seen Steve clean-shaven. He seems a bit happier today, though, and he doesn't want to ruin that.

"Want to tell me about the date?"

The ex-assassin rolls his eyes. "We had a picnic, we danced, we went to bed. It wasn't anything exciting."

"Yeah, going on a date with the love of your life isn't special at all."

"You're a punk."

"Jerk. Seriously, though, Buck. Tell me about her."

Not 'it'. Not the date. Her, Eve. Bucky feels his expression crumble into something that pre-serum Steve might see on a rare, lucky day.

"She dances. She says she can't, but she learns quick and she's real graceful. Cuts a rug better than anyone else I've seen in this decade. Eve was speechless at the start of it. I'd never seen her speechless before," he admits, leaning his chin on his fist. On the computer, Wilson inches into view with an asshole-ish smirk. "She kisses like the devil, too."

"Thought she would," Wilson says thoughtfully. Somehow, he doesn't flinch at the slightly murderous look Bucky gives him. "Slow your roll, Cyborg, it was one date and yeah, I wondered. Gal like that--"

"Don't tell me you forgot flowers!"

Sweet, sweet Steve. Always there to save someone's hide, even though he never saves his own.

"Course not, I've dated before. You think I'd forget flowers?"

"Well--"

"Wilson, don't finish that thought."

"Was Barnes always this bitchy?"

"Stop, children, or you get go in timeout."

Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve's choice of words. Wilson snorts, obviously thinking the same thing. "You gonna spank me next, Daddy?"

Steve sighs in a long-suffering way. "Sam."

"What, I thought you liked being called Daddy?"

Bucky snickers at Steve's resigned expression. "That happen often?"

"Unfortunately. Anyways, Buck, I'm glad you and Eve are finally dating."

"Gotta go?"

"Yeah, the receptionist is starting to get a bit nosy and a bunch of girl scouts mentioned that Falcon was their favorite, so Sam here bought everything they had."

"Really?"

Wilson shrugs. "Like I'm going to keep walking when an eleven year old says I'm her idol."

"Don't do anything else stupid, would you?" Bucky says, by way of goodbye. Steve only makes a noncommittal noise and ends the video call.

He stretches, effectively popping multiple times, and carefully goes back into the hut. Eve is sprawled out across the bed, jaw unhinged and drool on her cheek. Bucky wipes the drool away, like the good boyfriend he is, and mumbles an apology when it jars Eve awake. She only blinks blearily, grunts, and flops back down.

Bucky lays next to her and props himself enough to place a sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smiles, not exactly awake. One of her hands lazily tangles in his hair, her nails lightly grazing his scalp. Bucky hums. Eve has magic hands, especially when it comes to detangling or just playing with his hair. And while he would sit back and let her...

Well, you can't blame the man for wanting to kiss her again.

This time, it's Eve that hums. It's also Eve that scratches just a bit at the nape of his neck, and it's Eve that shifts the angle of the kiss. She leaves Bucky a bit breathless. Bucky, who's pumped full of HYDRA poison and altered serums, is effectively effected by Eve.

"Good morning," she says fondly, not at all breathless. The dilation of her pupils and the beat of her pulse are the only indicators that they kissed. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

Bucky leans in again. He keeps that kiss brief, if only because they have things they have to do. If they didn't, he doubts Eve would leave their hut at all. Alas. Their semblance of a normal life must continue.

And it does. A few weeks go by like they'd gone by previously. The only new feature would be the kissing. Everything else--the hand holding, sleeping together, and suchlike--had more or less been that way for a few years. Bucky tries and fails to pinpoint exactly when he started falling in love with Eve. Eve, on the other hand, treats their relationship like something very new.

Chupacabra paced seems more like a game of Red Light, Green Light, at this point, and maybe that's what it's been like all along.

Either way, Bucky finds himself flirting and finding the little things that make Eve tick. He knows any mention of Ford will result in a glum mood, of course, and that any mention of her dad is a big no-no. He knows not to call her 'Sweetheart'. He knows those sorts of things because that's what he categorizes as Old Knowledge. The New Stuff is what he's testing out.

For one, languages. She likes them quite a bit. When Bucky talks in any language other than English, she sits a bit straighter. It's obvious that she likes accents more, though. HYDRA never trained the Soldier into accents, just languages, but after all that time in Siberia, it's rubbed off a bit. He can't say anything Russian without hints of a winter-thick accent, and Eve had more or less ran off when he first found out and promptly began teasing her.

He never says anything dirty. He has more respect for Eve than that. It's always compliments and bits of truth that he wouldn't have the courage to say in a language she does understand. Either way, she blushes from her forehead to his neck if he casually slips a bit of Russian into everyday conversation. Bucky loves it.

Eve isn't easily embarrassed. Bucky, however, is. The last time he received any sort of romantic attention was the forties. And if Bucky thought he was a flirt in the forties, then Eve would've been scandalous. She doesn't try to embarrass him. She doesn't really even try to flirt. She just... well, Eve just manages to get Bucky red-faced and at a loss for words.

He doesn't mind too much. He just has to go for jogs every now and then.

Anyways, Bucky decides to take Eve on another date about a month and a half after their first one. For this one, he gets Eve and himself to the city. They walk around for hours. Bucky gets a bit overwhelmed by the noise, but Eve is right there to take his hand and pull him to a small garden. She said it was to 'look at the foxgloves.' They both know that's a half-truth.

"They're my favorite, you know," she informs, lightly touching a leaf.

"I thought you're favorites were gardenias."

Her hand drops. Bucky adds gardenias to the list of things to avoid mentioning.

"Adam loved them, and Mom did, too."

"I like roses."

"I pegged you for the sunflower type." Eve is teasing him. There's a shadow of something in her smile, left over from the gardenia mishap, but she knows full well that Bucky isn't one for sunflowers.

"Mhm. Red roses, classic and romantic."

She nods seriously. "I wonder why."

They keep on walking. They stop for lunch, and then for dinner. By the time the date is done, the sun has set. They walk back to the tent, hands clasped together and tired grins stuck in place.

Eve tries to kiss him as they walk into their home. Bucky ends up laughing loudly, unable to stop himself from making a racket. Their neighbors hiss at them to shush. Bucky manages to shut himself up.

"Why on earth are you laughing?" Eve whispers. In the lamplight, her eyes seem like two different colors.

"You're too short to reach me without standing on your toes."

Wrong thing to say, yet again.

Bucky cups her face, intent on bringing back the smile that abruptly disappeared. He's about to apologize when the offended look melts into something smug. Before he can brace himself for whatever retribution he's about to get, Eve has gripped his shirt and brought him down to her level.

She doesn't kiss his mouth. Instead, she skips straight to the corner of his jaw, then behind his ear. Her lips skim down his neck. Bucky has bit his lip to keep from making any noise. It proves a good move when Eve smirks against his skin and places an open-mouthed kiss to his throat.

"Do you know why I don't mind my height?" she says, low and sweet. Bucky clenches his jaw. "It's because..."

Her teeth graze his ear.

"...I'm closer to hell. Sweet dreams, Buchannan."

"What?" he mumbles, eyes open and voice hoarse. But Eve is already putting on her nightgown, the cocky jut of her hip the only sort of affirmation he gets. "That's not even close to fair."

"Is it now?"

He scowls. "You're a tease."

"Tease? Me? No, Buchannan, you have it all wrong. I'm just a bit of an asshole. You're the tease."

A bit of an asshole? Just a bit? Are we on the same planet, Eve? Because I don't think we are at the moment.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath, hoping to collect himself a bit. Part of him wants to really start teasing her--Russian and all the other big guns--but at the moment, they both need to rest. Tomorrow, Eve is on 'teach-the-teenage-girls-how-to-do-things-with-their-hair' duty. Seeing as Eve isn't too good at that, Bucky looks forward to watching her struggle.

He'll even let her think that he's forgotten about this moment. He won't, though, because Eve is right. He is a flirt.

He falls asleep to the sound of Eve's snores.

What a wonderful life he's managed to get, he thinks just before oblivion sinks into his eyelids.

~*~

Four weeks and three days go by and Eve is starting to think that Buchannan forgot that one date's end, but she's not dumb. If the man remembers the tiny details of their early meetings and recalls them perfectly, he definitely hasn't forgotten about that.

They go on more dates. Eve brings up dancing again because fine, Buchannan, she really does enjoy it. Dancing becomes part of their routine, in a way. Most of the time, Buchannan will lead. He teaches Eve his old-timey jigs and Eve eventually suggests that she teach him a few dances. This, of course, was said with the flirtiest smile she could muster. The tips of his ears had gone red.

His answer was affirmative, though.

That's how, after a long day of goat-birthing, Eve ends up showing Buchannan a few moves of her own. The Cupid Shuffle, the Cha-Cha Slide, and that nameless one that goes along to Cotton-Eyed Joe. Buchannan had danced, but it was obvious that he found the dances stupid. Amusing, but stupid.

She had no idea that Shuri had been conspiring with the son of a gun.

Eve choked when the man dabbed to the beat of All The Single Ladies. He'd made her swear not to mention it again, but Eve's said it before and she'll say it again. She's an asshole. His embarrassment is her own, and thus, she got Shuri to videotape him doing the Whip with T'Challa during one of their rare meets.

"God, I love you," she's wheezed. Buchannan had scowled, surly and about as red as War's steed.

Four weeks and three days turns into the One Year Anniversary Of Being Wakanda's Bitches, as Shuri had named it.

Eve would have been fine staying back and watching Funlayo learn to crawl, but the royalty had commanded they celebrate. That meant, apparently, getting pampered. Buchannan offered no help to Eve as she was dragged away by Queen Mother, Shuri, and Nakia.

Deep down, she hopes T'Challa gives him hell. She knows he won't.

It takes Eve about ten minutes to get ready on a normal day. All the Stylish & Attractive people around her, however, turned ten minutes into an hour. An hour! Eve knows how to ready herself and yeah, she might have taken half an hour to get herself fancied up, but an hour? Overkill.

That's what she thinks until she's standing in front of Shuri's full-length mirror.

"Holy shit."

The princess looks unbearably smug. "I told you that you look sexy in yellow."

There's something about standing next to three similarly beautiful woman that does wonders for self-confidence. Eve is not royal, by blood or initiation. She's not bred into this. She can't be groomed for this, not that she'd want to be, but she feels like a queen right now. She looks like one, too, and Eve won't lie. She's excited for dinner.

"Five bucks says that T'Challa is speechless," Shuri bets.

Eve grins. "Five metaphorical bucks says he spills his wine."

Queen Mother smiles at their antics. Nakia, however, just smiles brightly and shrugs, like she's saying, 'Yeah, he's my sweet dumbass king.'

Ramonda fixes her daughter's hair. "My sons will be thoroughly enamored," she says proudly, and Eve almost forgets to breathe.

She referred to Buchannan as her son.

Yes, the unconventional adoption went through. It still comes as a shock to find that Ramonda is taking the situation so seriously.

Okoye opens the door, armor gleaming in the artificial lighting. The gold looks more like fire. "King T'Challa and Sergeant Barnes are waiting downstairs," she informs. Eve notices the wicked gleam in her eyes. "The restaurant isn't far, of course, but they are eager."

Eve grins. She's eager, too.

Queen Ramonda straightens her spine. "Come on, then, it's rude to keep them waiting much longer."

"It's fun, though."

"Shuri, dear, please behave."

The princess only shrugs. "We'll see."

Indeed, they will.


	37. |CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE|

Bucky has prepared for many things. Dates, assassinations, funerals. He never could be prepared to see Eve coming towards him.

The dress is slim-fitting around her body and loose around her legs. There's a slit up one leg; each step makes Bucky's heart jump. The fabric something expensive and light. It's a pale yellow color, something you might see in the sunrise. Eve is wearing heels, too, and her hair is loose. It's gotten long, he realizes, and the black curls have never looked healthier. She doesn't have on jewelry, but he looks at her neck, anyways. It's not really low cut but everything about Eve is simply inviting. The outfit makes her more so.

All capacity at the English language is gone. Bucky breathes out that she looks gorgeous in Russian, corrects himself in German, and then curses himself in Finnish. Eve only kisses his cheek, her smile small and so loving his heart stutters in his rib cage.

"You look handsome, Buchannan," she murmurs.

He grunts, not really sure how to respond to that. Bucky hasn't dressed in a tux since before he was enlisted. It was never a common occurrence to begin with, especially since he never had an abundance of money to spend on dapper clothes, but it does feel nice to dress fancy. Of course, the fact that he had to roll up an entire arm of the suit brought down his confidence. But then there's Eve, gently taking his remaining arm and looking at him like he's something wonderful.

"All right!" Shuri claps her hands. She's in a modest, slim navy dress and sneakers. The Queen is in lace and white, pearls around her neck. Nakia is in a low-cut red dress, gold earrings dangling from her ears. T'Challa is in a suit, like Bucky, except he actually fills it out completely. Having two arms helps with that. "Are the couples done ogling each other?"

Bucky, who's gotten quite close to the princess, smiles. Everyone else seems to prepare themselves for ceaseless teasing, Eve included.

"Try and behave," Eve pleads. Pleads! Bucky stifles a laugh, up until a thought crosses his mind: What would it take for her to plead with me?

He immediately shoves the thought away.

He's still having trouble trusting himself. Yeah, Shuri flushed his mind. Yeah, Dr. Okafor is helping him immensely. But he still can't forget all those nightmares, both real and imaginary. He can't forget what happens when he slips.

They walk to the restaurant. Eve indulges in idle conversation; she doesn't ask Bucky if he's okay, because she trusts him to tell her. He is fine, too. It's been a while since cities overwhelmed him, excluding one incident. He focuses on Eve, just in case, though that proves to be a very easy task.

She's absolutely radiant. Her smile makes her eyes go all squinty. Her nose crinkles when she laughs. Her mouth is smiling, and Bucky knows her lips shake when she's mad. It makes him want to kiss away the problem every time. Usually, Eve will ask for a few minutes to collect herself, and then they'll talk it out. He never tries to kiss her when she's that upset; he's caused her so many troubles that the slightest ruffling of her feathers makes him immensely guilty.

Bucky gets so caught up in admiring Eve that, when they arrive at the restaurant, he trips over his own feet and smacks into the door frame. Apart from a brief bout of laughter, no one mentions it.

They're seated in the back of the restaurant. Bucky realizes that they reserved this place for him. It faces the entrances of the establishment. Every route is mapped out. There's solid walls at their left and right. Bucky sits himself and Eve more towards the corner, just out of habit, and he catches T'Challa's gaze.

He nods. It's silent 'thank you' that is received with a smile and a call for drinks.

A quick note—Bucky has never seen Eve drunk. Apparently, that's because she's a lightweight who got addicted to coffee to save herself the hangovers. Two glasses of wine and she's giggling, loud, and gesturing much more wildly than usual with her hands.

"If," she rambles, nearly smacking her third glass of wine over, "if it was like I'm saying, then we could do it. Damn right, we could! Just get some, I dunno, geese and get Shuri a Red Bull. We could make them real."

Shuri seems to like this version of Eve. She's nodding excitedly, now, as she confirms, "I have everything we'd need in my lab. Mom—"

"No." The Queen sighs, looking quite like Steve had a while back. "You are not rewiring waterfowls' brains to create attack geese."

"But it's so practical!" Eve interjects. "And easy."

"And expensive," T'Challa laughs, "but neither of you seem to care."

Eve shrugs. She's tipsy, but not drunk. Bucky's stayed mostly quiet, fascinated by what Eve is like when alcohol has loosened her up a bit. He also notices that, whenever someone in the restaurant laughs a bit too loud, or when there's an unexpected clatter from the kitchen, she tenses up. It's when the waiter takes their order and drops the salad bowl that he notices the sheer panic in her expression. Quickly, he puts his hand on her thigh. She jumps, then holds his hand. She gives him a quick smile. A thank you.

She orders water in addition to her dinner.

"So, Eve," Nakia says brightly, "what's your family like?"

Eve's smile locks in place. She looks down at her silverware and says in an uncharacteristically small voice, "They were nice."

"Oh, I'm sorry—“

"No need to apologize, Nakia. They were nice. After I went from orthotist to marionette, things changed, and not everything got better." Eve shrugs her narrow shoulders. "No biggie. I think our waiter's coming back. Hey, T'Challa, I'm curious about how the whole 'we-aren't-a-third-world-country' thing is going. Any opposition?"

Conversation picks up again. Bucky doesn't glare at the might-be-queen. He does trace designs onto Eve's skin. The slit of the dress has more than one perk, it seems. He even manages to convince Eve to eat. Despite the consequences, she gets into these moments where, no matter how hungry or sick she gets, food just doesn't sound appetizing. It's usually when she's upset or not feeling well that it happens.

They keep talking even after T'Challa pays the bill. The topics range from Post Malone to the fact that the FDA classifies honey as a meat, which makes no sense and is really disturbing. Like, why? Why meat?

Seriously, though. Why?

Anyways, Eve excuses herself to the bathroom. Nakia follows her, having drunk more heavily than anyone else at the table. Shuri jumps on the opportunity.

"So, Bucky, what'd you think?"

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair. "I'm tempted to play dumb, but I figure that won't work."

"It won't," T'Challa says helpfully.

"Right. I think Eve looks beautiful, and I think that T'Challa should hurry up and propose because the ring in his pocket isn't getting any lighter."

The king's jaw drops. Shuri slaps a hand over her mouth. Ramonda, former queen of Wakanda, looks at him like he just hit a big red button labeled 'Self-Destruct'.

Before all hell breaks loose, Eve and Nakia return. They start leaving, though not before Bucky leans in and whispers in his girlfriend's ear.

"You look stunning, by the way."

"And you, James Buchannan Barnes, are the best thing that's happened to me."

She kisses him, short and sweet, and Bucky doesn't miss that nameless, dark emotion in her eyes. They drop back behind the others. He cradles her face, gently brushing her hair back and caressing her cheek.

"Eve," he says softly, "what do you need?"

The smile wobbles. "Just hold me when we get back to the tent. Please."

Apparently, it doesn't take much to make Eve plead.

They leave after they change out of their fancy clothes. Eve looks beautiful still, dressed in the concealing garb that the village women wear, but it's obvious it's becoming increasingly hard for her to ignore her tears. When Eve is sad, when she cries or needs to, she seems to collapse in on herself. 

The walk back to their home is quiet. Bucky doesn't comment on the shuddering breaths she takes. He holds her hand and thinks, Almost there, just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

She doesn't change again. She just sits on the straw mattress, covers her mouth, and starts to sob. Bucky sits beside her. He holds her close. She's so tiny that her entire body folds like a house of cards, slotting right into his side. Bucky closes his eyes to keep himself from focusing on how torn up she is.

She cries for a long time. Eventually, it cuts off. Eve wipes her nose and eyes. She breathes. Then, she talks.

"My dad lost his legs and his right arm. Stepped on a land mine. He should've died and he wished he had. He drank a lot, struggled with the new arrangements, and Mom started working a lot more to pay for his PT and his habits. Adam tried to help, but I ended up being his primary caretaker, especially after he went to boot camp. He said a lot of stuff when he was drunk, but he was drunk, right? Didn't count."

Eve exhales shakily.

"Adam didn't drink when he was discharged. He didn't want to end up like Dad, I guess, and he didn't stick around to be different. I was in a meeting when he called. I sent him to voice mail. I hate myself for it, still, even though I know logically that I shouldn't. But then Tony Stark and I teamed up. I got Dad new limbs, fully functional. Mom retired. Then HYDRA threw the Molotov."

She shifts further into him. Bucky, understanding, leans back so she can lay next to him. Her voice gets hoarse again.

"All the shit he'd said drunk, he said nine months sober. Mom didn't say a word. I'd always idolized them both. Of course I did, they're my parents, right?" Eve laughs, brief and mirthless. "When I tried to explain, Dad told me to go before he gets his gun. He was serious, too. The only time he'd ever looked at someone like that was when he had a flashback."

Bucky's mouth sets in a line. "It's been years, Eve. Years."

"I know."

There's not really anything he can say that will make this better. He settles for turning onto his side and holding Eve as close as he can. After a few minutes, she whispers, "Thank you."

What can Bucky do but tell her that he loves her?

~*~

"Hey, Buchannan, I have a question."

Bucky cranes his neck to look at Eve. It's been a few days since the One Year thing, and she's seemed a little happier since they talked. Right now, though, she looks contemplative. It's the 'trust-me-I'm-doing-an-experiment' sort of look that automatically makes Bucky very aware of how beautiful she is. Especially when she's got that calculating, borderline Sherlock Holmes thing going on. That's if Sherlock Holmes was a black woman wearing a traditional Wakandan dress, and if Sherlock Holmes was having a particularly bad hair day.

"I was wondering if you'd let me try something, seeing as the last time I tried I was laughed at."

Ah, yes. Bucky knows what she's talking about. "Thanks for reminding me," he teases. The corner of her mouth turns up. "'Course, Eve. Chewbacca paced, right?"

There it is. She's smiling fully now. "Chupacabra, Buchannan. Chewbacca is a Wookie in the Star Wars franchise."

He knows, of course, but he's willing to look like a bit of an idiot if it means Eve grins.

Speaking of.

Eve sits on his lap, a knee on either side of him, and lightly touches his chest and jaw. Bucky goes very still. He never did this in the forties. Hell, he only ever kissed in back alleys and danced for hours. A gentle kiss brings him back.

"You're over thinking," she says quietly. "If it's not enjoyable, tell me. I won't know if I don't get feedback."

He slips into Mandarin for a moment. Then, grimacing, he corrects himself. "Trust me, this is enjoyable."

"Good."

She kisses him again. This time, Bucky slides his hand up her back to rest it on her neck. Bucky savors the moment. It's nice, not having to compensate for their height difference, and their position is intimate. He likes it. He likes it even more when Eve's tongue grazes his. It's a slow game of push and pull. Bucky could be fine with this—kisses both chaste and exploring, artful touches, just being close to one another—but he'd be lying if he said he didn't groan when Eve's hands went into his hair.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" he asks. He clears his throat to rid himself of the gravelly tone he'd gotten. "I'm not complaining, really, I'm not, but I'm almost jealous."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Why would you be jealous?"

"I didn't get to see you clumsily figuring this out."

Her smile gets crooked. "Well, there's other firsts. I'm not exactly well-versed in everything."

Bucky pushes a few thick curls from her forehead. "Neither am I. I'd like to try something, though."

"Knock yourself out."

This, he's done before. He remembers when Eve kissed his neck, the warmth that rose from his toes to his forehead, and smirks when she shivers. He holds her hip as he places open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder. She sucks in a sharp breath, her grip on his shoulders tightening. Bucky pauses to ask, "This okay?"

"More than," she informs, laughing a bit. "I'm tempted to throw your earlier question right back at you."

"Multiple alleys between the thirties and forties. I was a ladies' man back then."

"Still are."

"Mm. For you, I'll be one."

"You sweet sap."

They kiss again. Bucky breaks it to kiss her forehead, then her hand. He's looking at the love of his life, wondering how it'd be to raise a family with her. He thinks of how it'd be to see her walking down the aisle, to grow old with her, and he's suddenly struck by the fact that he can have that. There's no reason for him not to. He's still guilty and ashamed and haunted, and that might never change, but with Eve a life like that is entirely possible.

He leans down for another kiss. And another, and another, until they're both out of breath and dizzy with affection. Bucky doesn't want to stop. There's no reason for him not to. Still, before they go past the point of no return, they settle down for the night.

~*~

Turns out, Shuri and Eve have been conspiring. Bucky didn't know they actually succeeded in creating attack geese until T'Challa was in the village, exasperated and low-key impressed with the accomplishment. Eve didn't have the grace to look ashamed. Instead, she asked if he wanted to place an investment. He did.

Everything was smooth, easy, and Bucky doubts he could be happier.

Then there was a setback.

They'd been making out in the early morning. Eve tugged a bit too hard on his hair and suddenly Bucky wasn't there. He was in the Siberian HYDRA Base, his handler's grip harsh as he dragged the Winter Soldier back into cryo. A blink and he'd shoved Eve away and into the wall. She was looking up at him, her cheek swollen from a particularly hard blow, with wide, concerned eyes. Not scared, not angry. Concerned.

Bucky didn't go back to the village for a while.

Dr. Okafor had found him a few miles out, in the woods. He'd managed to convince Bucky to go back. Eve had been cautious, not wanting to upset him, but he'd hugged her and whispered endless apologies into her ear. The kids still hung out around him. The mothers still had him watch their children. The men still asked for his help. Bucky started to doubt having a life with Eve after all.

Ramonda, however, had apparently had enough of his semi-solitude. She marched right into the village, told Eve she was borrowing her son, and dragged him right into the city. Ramonda ordered him to clean himself up, so he did. She told him to follow her, so he did.

Now, they're overlooking a sunset. The former queen doesn't look at him while she speaks.

"Listen to me very closely, James Barnes. This is the first incident since before you arrived. This is the first incident while you've been with Eve. Do you think that changes anything? Don't deny yourself the trust you've earned, boy. No one else is. So, you are going to tell me what you want. What's the first thing you think of when I bring up your future?"

"Marrying Eve," he says softly. The colors of the sunset are stunning. Reds and oranges and yellows. It's like someone threw paint or fire at the sky. "I think about marrying Eve."

"Then this is what's going to happen." Ramonda looks at him intensely, a hardened queen and great mother. "You will go out tomorrow and begin shopping for a ring. Customize one, even, just don't bother with the prices. Once you find one, propose to Eve, plan your wedding, and marry her. T'Challa still hasn't proposed to Nakia and I will not stand for both of my sons to be so afraid of being with the ones they love."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now," she says dismissively, "off with you. Go to Eve. Make amends."

He does. He stops himself form saying he's sorry several times. They fall asleep and wake up, and Bucky begins his search.

A ring. He needs to find a ring. What kind? Eve doesn't seem like one for gold. Silver? Would she like silver? What size finger does she have? Wait, what gemstones should he use? Diamonds? Everyone uses diamonds, though, should he do something different? He can't half-ass this, he needs to find something absolutely amazing. One of a kind. Something that has 'Eve' written all over it.

Written. Engraved. He can get the band engraved.

Bucky smiles as he looks over the display case. He's a genius.

Also, no one told him that ring shopping was stressful.

"No, um, I don't know what size she is. Small? Are there smalls?"

The employee stares at him. "No."

"Okay. Um, a palladium band inlaid with a 2 carat diamond. And inside could you engrave the word 'Lebed''?"

"I mean, yes, but we need a size."

How the hell does one get that? Bucky can't exactly waltz up and ask, that's obvious.

He'll have to think of another way.

~*~

"Hey, Eve, what ring size are you?"

"Seven because I have bony knuckles. Why?"

"I wanted to buy you something and that happens to be one of the important bits I have to know beforehand."

Eve smiles. She kisses his cheek. "Thank you in advance, Buchannan."

He's an idiot, but hey. It worked, didn't it?

~*~

Two weeks pass after he places the order. It's another week before he can pick it up. Now, he has to find the right time to propose, and that ring feels a lot heavier than a couple of grams.

In space, the god of mischief's neck breaks.

Thor floats through the debris of a spaceship.

Heimdall's broken body dissolves into atoms.

The Hulk crashes back to Earth.

The end is near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! The story isn't done; there's more to cover. I just wanted to make sure y'all knew that before panicking. Again, the kudos and comments are really sweet, so thank you so much! I will be taking a break, however, due to personal reasons.


	38. |CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge space between updates. There's also some minor errors in the Russian (Google Translate is good, but at times highly inaccurate.), but they're small enough that I'm ignoring them. I also wanted to thank y'all for the comments and kudos, both are ginormously appreciated! Any kind things to say? Criticism? Snarky comments? I love 'em all (Straight-up hate, though, I'll skip out on.) and hearing from y'all helps me. Anyways... onto the chapter! :D

Bucky tosses another hay bale into a cart. Some of the village boys have climbed a tree to watch him. The White Wolf—it's funny, how the name has grown on him—figures the children are intrigued by how easily he flings heavy items around. Then he sees them coming over the hill, and the semblance of happiness that had drifted over him disappears.

Something is wrong.

King T'Challa, flanked by members of the King's Guard and General Okoye, stop by the wagon. One of them places a long, semi-narrow metal case on the hay. Bucky knows what it is immediately. There's no other reason for some of Wakanda's military to be here.

Again, the thought is whispered across his skin. Something is wrong.

The case is opened. As he walks closer, his jaw sets. It's a prosthetic. He remembers Eve's reaction when he said he didn't want a new arm, how she'd deflated and then asked if she could submit the schematics, just in case. He hadn't imagined that her ideas would be quite this extravagant.

"Where's the fight?" There's nothing but resignation in his voice. He remembers telling Steve that it always ends in a fight, the same numb tone in those words. He remembers war after war, fights and battles so clear in his mind his chest aches. Both king and general seems just as resigned, though they at least have the hard edge of determination to keep them firm. Bucky doesn't. He has this new life, he has Eve, and there's a ring in his pocket waiting to be on his love's finger.

"On its way," T'Challa informs gravely.

And then he hears her. A small body filled with condensed fury, walking in the way a wildcat might when uncaged.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Eve—“

"I asked a question. What is this?"

Bucky intervenes, quickly resting his hand on Eve's cheek. He sees past the anger. She's forcing her fear into what everyone else assumes is fury. In reality, it's more frustration. "Lebed', it's okay." She clenches her jaw. Her eyes are brimming with tears she's too pissed to let go of. "They wouldn't ask this of me unless it was important. You know that."

Eve looks over him, to Okoye. A silent conversation is held. Then, Eve's shoulders droop. Her voice changes into something quiet and unyielding. "I'm putting the arm on." There's no room for argument.

T'Challa nods. "I expected nothing less, Eve."

She snaps the case shut, tucks it under her arm, and looks expectantly at the people around her. Kings and warriors and ghosts stare back. In the middle of them, she seems like the sun to Bucky. Everyone else is in orbit, secondary in the grand scheme of things, and she's burning brighter than he's ever seen.

"Debrief us on the way," she instructs, "and have Shuri prepare the med-bay. Both of us will need to get cleaned up before hand. I don't want to risk infection, even if Buchannan over here has serum pumping through his veins."

"Of course." The king sounds like he's trying to soothe a spooked horse. He's very incorrect. Eve's temper flares, just a bit, and she narrows her eyes.

"I'm not going to snap, T'Challa. Now, come on, we don't have all day."

True to his word, T'Challa explains everything. There's a being called Thanos that wants to take out half of the universe using Infinity Stones. He already has the two. He might have more by now. He has an expansive army, including the Chitauri, and multiple others assets. Earth is comparatively defenseless. But they have a few things Thanos wants. Vision, for one, and the gem stuck in his forehead like a cosplay of a comic book character.

Bucky and Eve split off once they reach the palace. Bucky would suggest bathing together, but it didn't seem like a good time, considering how both of them are internally battling a multitude of emotions. So, after they get cleaned up separately, they go straight to the medical wing.

Bucky sits down in a chair. Eve has changed into jeans and a tank top, her mind so focused on the task at hand that she more or less ignores the fact that Bucky is both shirtless and nostalgic. She goes about the task of connecting the arm to his nervous system with a practiced ease. He watches her quietly.

Her hands are just as scarred and careful as always. Those hands have birthed goats, held babies, rewired prosthetics, bypassed firewalls, loved, held, caressed, made. They don't shake. They're as steady as you please, and Bucky skims up to her face. Eyebrows drawn in, nose scrunched. A muscle jumps in her jaw. She gnaws her lower lip until it's raw and split. Loose curls, held back mostly by a borrowed bandana, twist around her cheeks.

How many times have they been in this exact position? It feels peaceful, or it should. It should be like coming home. Instead, Bucky lowers his gaze back to her hands. Otherwise, he'd stare at her mouth, her eyes, the mole on her left eyelid, and he'd propose.

"This isn't going to end casualty free," Eve murmurs. Another habit come to surface—rambling. She grabs a wire and untangles it from the rest. "I'm not asking you not to go, I know that's a lost cause. They need you. It would be wrong of me to ask you to stay alive, too, because I know you. You'd promise, someone would do something stupid, and your Mother Override would put you in the spotlight. Without fail, that's what would happen. So, I'm asking you to let me do the same."

He had been still before. Now, he jerks so hard that his new arm spasms. Through gritted teeth, he demands, "What the hell are you talking about?"

She eases him back into position. She kisses his forehead briefly. Then she's back to work.

"I'd be no good on the front lines or the battle field in general. But if Shuri is going to take the gem out of Vision without killing him, she'll need guards. Wakanda will need to evacuate. This place will be a warzone, nothing out of bounds, and I'm not going to sit by and watch it burn."

"Eve, I'm not doubting you're capabilities, but the Dora and the Guard can help with all that. Please, just stay out of it." He grabs her hand. Goosebumps raise at the chill of his metal fingers. "Eve, please, не делайте этого. Don't do this to me."

She smiles. Burning bright, like she always is. "Buchannan," she chides, "you would. You are, actually."

"I have a background for this."

"I do, too. Adam taught me self-defense. You taught me a few tricks, too, and Shuri decided to give me a crash course a while back. The Dora had a few pointers."

"Eve." He's begging, now. He's pulled Eve onto his lap. He doesn't know what do to with his hands, so they skitter across her sides to her shoulders, to her neck and face and then her waist. "Lebed'—“

Fuck, what does one say? What could actually help in this situation?

Of course, Eve seems to know.

She laces their fingers, smooth metal against rough flesh, and places their hands against his chest. She leans forward, kissing him gently. Her breathing is shaky. Not from anything good, either. Eve has always been good at hiding her fear.

"I love you, Buchannan." Another kiss, longer. "And if it ends badly, for either of us, promise me that you'll try to move on. I'll do the same."

Never mind. She doesn't know how to help. Bucky is pissed, now, and he expresses it.

"The hell I'd move on," he snaps. "You think I could?"

"Well, trying wouldn't hurt."

"Neither of us are going to die."

"You know that's not true."

Bucky's resolve snaps.

He's kissing her, much more roughly than he'd originally intended. Eve sinks right into it, her surprise going from his name to a gasp. Bucky doesn't hesitate to slide his hands up her shirt; her skin is warm, the ridge of her spine something he follows intently. She shivers. Instead of responding with the nearly harsh treatment, she's gentle, obviously remembering what happened when she pulled his hair a bit too hard a while ago. Bucky drops from her lips to her neck. He'd be damned if that stopped him right now. Between open-mouthed, scruffy kisses, he tells her everything he'd wanted to.

"YA lyublyu tebya, Lebed', i ya ne ostanovlyus'. Vy krasivy, vy umny, vy stoite bol'she, chem ya mog by dat' vam, i ya slishkom egoistichen, chtoby otpustit' vas."

She shivers again, this time letting out a noise that reminds Bucky of a rusty hinge. He trails his mouth across her clavicle. Her fingers tangle loosely in his hair.

"YA khochu zhenit'sya na tebe. YA sdelayu eto zdes' i seychas, yesli eto oznachayet, chto vy budete v bezopasnosti. Prosto skazhi da, skazhi da." He kisses her on the mouth, starting a long game of push and pull. He breaks off when they're short of breath, but he doesn't stop. He shifts his focus to the corner of her jaw, under her ear. "Vykhodi za menya zamuzh, Lebed'. Skazhi da. Vykhodi za menya," he murmurs, voice low and dark.

Eve groans. "Da, lyubov', prosto ... svyatoye der'mo, Buchannan."

They both freeze. Slowly, Bucky pulls back. Eve looks as horrified as he feels.

"I'm going to say it now," she says slowly, "I meant to tell you I knew Russian, I just didn't. I mean, I didn't forget to, I... shit, I'm not helping. Let me just—“

"Don't you dare," he warns, firmly adjusting his grip.

"Uh, are you pissed? I can't tell if you're pissed or turned on."

The corners of his mouth lift up. "Well, I'm not pissed, but embarrassed would be a pretty good term. You knew what I was saying all those times?"

She smiles weakly. Bucky smiles fully. Then the realization that they've spent far more time in here than necessary sinks in.

"They'll be coming in soon," he mutters. "Did you finish the arm?"

"Yeah, it's good. And you basically tested it, so that's not needed."

She slides off him and straightens herself out. Bucky does the same to himself, though his mind is still preoccupied with other matters. He puts the rest of the uniform (Which is really an outfit that reminds him of the getup he wore before 'dying' the first time.) and lacing up his boots again.

As they prepare to leave, Bucky catches Eve's wrist.

"The moment this is over, I'm going to get the best damn ring in Wakanda, and I'm proposing in the traditional manner."

Eve's expression makes his ribs constrict. It's a balance of sadness and hope, and it tears him to shreds.

"You better, Buchannan."

"Sergeant Barnes," Okoye's voice interrupts, "Captain Rogers and his allies will be landing soon."

"Sure thing."

Eve kisses his cheek and whispers one last, "I love you."

He says the same. Then they drift off, neither knowing how the day will end.

~*~

"A semi-stable hundred year old man."

Bucky and Steve hug. Video calls aren't exactly the same.

"How've you been, Buck?" Steve asks. The beard seems to have stuck. Bucky just focuses on the past and present, thinking about Eve and blatantly ignoring everything and anything bad that's happened. Or is happening.

"Not bad," he concedes with a grin, "for the end of the world."

"And Eve?"

Bucky raises his eyebrows. "Determined, per usual. Though when this is done, I have good news."

"You're a jerk for teasing me like that."

"And you're a punk, 'specially with that beard. But if things go sour, promise you'll look after Eve, okay?"

"Of course, Buck."

"White Wolf, stay with Colonel Rhodes and Sam Wilson. We will take Vision to Shuri and discuss further plans."

The smile doesn't fall. For all the shit they give each other, Sam and Bucky actually do like each other. At first, yeah, it was mutual dislike. Then it became grudging respect, then unacknowledged fondness that they definitely won't further mention.

So, the mass of people leave. Colonel Rhodes accepts Bucky's unsteady apology, tells him to forget about it, and goes on his merry way. Which is to say, a few feet away, because they're stationed in the same general area.

Sam isn't as forgiving.

"So, how's the missus?" he asks slyly. "Any chance I can say hello before the guns go off?"

"Probably not. She's fine, though."

"What else is new?"

"Apparently, not respect."

Sam chuckles. "I'm just pulling your leg, Vanilla Ice, so chill out. Really, though. How are you both?"

He thinks about earlier, clears his throat, and shrugs. "Not bad. We're, uh, happy."

"She's helping, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"You tried to get her not to."

"Yep."

"It didn't work, then," he says wisely.

Bucky snorts. "It's Eve, Sam. You really think I could've changed her mind?"

"No, but I think you shouldn't worry about her. Eve's tiny, sure, but she's not fragile. She can hold her own."

"Against people, yeah, but aliens? I've seen her on death's doorstep before," he says darkly, thinking about the long weeks after she was shot by those HYDRA agents, "and I don't think I could do that again."

"Believe when I say you don't have to."

Bucky clears his throat. He pulls a small black box from his pocket. Immediately, Sam's jaw has dropped and the poor man has whispered, "Oh, hell naw."

"Hell yes," he says smugly. "And as soon as this is over, I'm making it official."

"Does Steve know?" Rhodes asks curiously. "Oh, and congrats."

"Steve wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. Well, he could, but he'd make us both sit out and that's not happening."

And then there's noise. A deafening noise, and the cause is a giant spacecraft falling from the sky.

"Hey, Cap, we got a situation here," Sam says into the ear piece.

The spacecraft collides with the invisible barrier encompassing the city. The sound is horrible, and for a moment Bucky can only think of Siberia, the compound collapsing in on itself. Then he sighs.

"God, I love this place."

"Don't start celebrating yet, guys, we got more incoming outside the dome," Rhodes warns, facing the ships.

More of them land on Wakandan soil. Bucky hears it from here. Unlike the explosions of the first hitting the dome, these have a more severe impact. They bury themselves into the ground with a shudder and a screech. He can see the trees bow at the force. The dome absorbs the impact, blue rippling up to the top in a patchwork of light. He sets his jaw.

He hopes Eve stays away. Deep down, he knows she won't.

They gather on the field. Bucky spares Natasha a small smile as they get off the aircraft.

"Feel familiar to you?"

"Last I checked, I beat your ass at training."

"Not counting Vienna, or the times before that."

"Shut up and take care of my gun, Barnes."

"Yes, ma'am."

Natasha, Steve, and T'Challa go to negotiate. Well, that's a weak term. Bucky knows better than to think it's a negotiation. It's a precursor to the actual fighting, that's what it is. A formality, if you can call it that.

As the trio come back, Bucky asks the unneeded question. "Did they surrender?"

Steve's reply is grim. "Not exactly."

T'Challa begins a collective war cry that the non-Wakandan residents don't partake in.

The beasts are released. Thousands of them, all grotesque and rather bloodthirsty.

"What the hell?" Bucky says, completely poker-faced. He shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't. At this point, this shit should be normal, right?

"Looks like we pissed her off," Natasha observes, rather astutely.

The creatures storm the barrier. Limbs are severed by the dome, but they keep at it, pushing forward and clambering over each other to be on the front lines.

Okoye voices the army's horror. "They're killing themselves."

A few burst through. Their tight skin blisters and weeps blood. They charge, regardless.

Behind a human-and-technological shield, Bucky starts sniping. He used to be a pro at that. It would help if he had a gun suited to the job instead of an assault rifle. There's a brief talk of strategy. A decision that could save them or effectively damn them.

The army charges.

They open the barrier.

The bloodshed well and truly begins.

~*~

Eve finds a place up high on a building. She's been given a sniper rifle. There's a knife in her boot and a pistol at her hip. Eve is terrified, but once she sees the mass of aliens attempting to kill everything, any uncertainty is dismissed. This is for her life, her friends and family, and she'll be damned if she hesitates.

Aim, shoot, watch them drop. Don't aim for anything but the head.

Part of Eve is concerned with how easily this comes to her. Part of her doesn't really care.

And then came the brilliant colors, iridescent and encompassing. The lightning followed. And from it emerged a being Eve can only describe as godly, a biped raccoon, and a tree-man.

Since the trio seems to be on their side, she refrains from sniping them.

Aim. Shoot. Reload.

And the aliens drop like flies.

~*~

The appearance of a talking, trigger-happy raccoon had been a surprise. So had having it (Him?) ask for his gun, then his arm. But there were more pressing matters to attend to, like the fact that while they do have a literal god on their side and several enhanced individuals, they are outnumbered.

Also, several gigantic, lethal wheels have bypassed the barrier by going underneath of it. T'Challa calls for a retreat. Then the Maximoff fixed that problem. Another took its place.

~*~

"Backup, I've been breached—“

Eve is running before she starts to respond. "I'm heading for you, Shuri."

Over the coms, she hears Bucky falter shooting.

She finds the alien with ease. Tall, ugly, and way more adept at all things violent than Eve will ever be. And she's terrified. The moment it gets done with the guards, Eve has emptied her pistol into the beast. It whirls around, snarling, and she finds herself frozen for a moment.

Attack Plan One: Failed.

It's just her, the knife in her boot, and the only enemy around.

She grabs the knife, screams, and charges. It's first blow misses. She slides between its legs, jabbing at its crotch only to find that there's nothing there to jab.

Attack Plan Two: Failed.

She slices for its Achilles Heel (Human anatomy runs through her brain, and she prays the same applies at least vaguely for aliens. Take the Achilles tendon out of the way, and you have an advantage. Sever its spinal cord, break its nose, step hard enough on its foot and you can get an advantage.) but its moved away already, and its weapon has come down into her thigh. She opens her mouth to scream, but the weapon is already out of her leg and stabbed into her rib cage. Her thoracic cavity collapses like soft butter.

Attack Plan Three: Failed.

"Holy shit! Eve, shit—“

"Sh'ri?" It takes a moment to realize that it's Eve speaking, and that Shuri is kneeling by her in a panic. She smiles, shudders, then sobs. Eve echoes Shuri's word of choice for the situation. "Shit—“

"I stabilized you, but Vision is gone and—shit, Eve, look at me!"

"'S hard," she mumbles.

"Hey! Look at me, you... you asshole, don't pass out yet."

Eve closes her eyes. She's tired. It hurts. What 'it' is, she's not sure. Then she squints up at Shuri, shocked. "I got stabbed."

"No shit, Sherlock, not come on... what the hell?"

Eve blinks the haze out of her eyes. She feels a lot better. "Yer stuff works good," she comments, voice tight and cracking.

Shuri's face is one of horror. "That wasn't me. That wasn't my—Eve? Eve, something is wrong, I need to—“

The princess reaches up to talk through the coms. Both watch, stunned, as her fingers crumble. Then her wrist collapse, her elbows, her chest, her terrified eyes—

~*~

"Steve?"

Bucky steps towards his best friend, but his body feels strange, like he's falling. God, he hates falling—the not-quite-there drop in your stomach, the open-mouthed scream drowned out by your own breathless lungs, the realization that there will be an impact and that it will hurt.

It never comes. He stays suspended, a veil dropped over his eyes. It feels wrong, it feels like something and nothing all at once. He can't hear anything. His heartbeat is gone. Wakanda is gone. He blinks—no, he doesn't. He isn't himself. He's atoms scattered in a free fall. There's no thought, no noise, no feeling. There's just a cocoon of not-flesh and darkness.

~*~

Eve stares at the dust, uncomprehending. One of the Dora is scattered ash a few feet away. Eve sits for a moment, numb, confused, and then she understands. The clarity rips a noise from her throat, and it sounds like something a dying dog might make.

She forces herself to stand. It hurts. God, it hurts. But there's nothing but dust—or ash, or something that can't be Shuri, because that would mean they lost—and bites her hand to keep from screaming. With an agonizing slowness, she limps down, stumbles outside.

There's confusion. There's blood. There's corpses. There's an emptiness, a silence, a void begging to be filled.

She manages to speak into the coms as she nears the tree line.

"Does anyone copy?" she croaks.

There nothing but a chilling oblivion. Eve tries again. The result is different this time, but not because someone answers. It's because someone she knows has stopped her from walking further into the woods. She looks unsteadily at a tall man. She takes a moment to put a name to the face.

"M'Baku," she breathes, sagging against him. He holds her up. He looks scared. "Wha's happened? Shuri's missing, she jus'... she isn't here. She was and then it was—M'Baku?"

"Come with me," he says hoarsely. "How badly wounded are you?"

"'M fine," she says dismissively, knowing full well that she isn't fine. "What happened?"

"Eve?"

She sees a glimpse of Steve, just before she's being pulled into his chest.

Something bad happened.

You know what it is, that one part of her says, sounding strangely soft. You know.

"He's gone," Steve whispers into her ear. He stifles his sob with her neck. "Buck's gone, Eve, we lost—“

It's funny thing, numbness. It can make you completely unaware, or simple uncaring. It can also let you understand what's happening without an overload of attachment. Or, perhaps, that's not at all correct. Eve knows for a fact it isn't. When she burns her hand, it feels numb for a moment. The pain receptors are all but scorched, and since the pain is so overwhelming, the nerves take a moment to catch up. Then it's all sorts of clear. And Eve knows, very calmly, that every burn she's gotten will never be enough to prepare her for this coming-back.

It isn't.

She feels wet on her skin. Steve is crying. She is, too. M'Baku has slipped away, most likely to find stragglers, and Eve wonders if this carcass, if Wakanda's remains, have any life at all. The answer is affirmative, but she only learns that hours later, while she's in the Avengers Compound in Upstate New York.

She also learns that Nicholas J. Fury is gone. He had a strange receiver thing and the remainder of the Avengers are now waiting for some sort of feedback from it. Tony Stark is in space. Pepper collapsed on Eve when she first arrived; they'd been fairly close, and in the midst of disaster, Pepper had found herself more relieved to see Eve than mad. They let the 'professionals' deal with one aspect of the world. For now, they have another job.

Comfort.

They make food, force everyone to drink and eat, and when they refuse they retreat to the unused bedrooms of the compound and sit. Pepper leans against Eve, like a child might its mother, but Eve feels just as lost. So, she does what she does best.

"The sun burns hydrogen into helium in its core," she whispers, facts seared into her memory, "and it makes the core collapse and heat up, which makes the outer layers get bigger. The tale of Medusa is actually tragic, depending on what version you hear. The one I have in mind is the one where Poseidon rapes her in Athena's temple. That's horrible, but Athena saves Medusa by turning her into a beast who's gaze turns others into stone. It's not a curse, that way."

She doesn't bring up the other facts she knows, the ones that burns hydrogen into helium in her core, that collapse in on herself and burn ever hotter, ever brighter, and make the outer layers expand.

Buchannan is clumsy when he's flustered, and he blushes up to his ears and down to his neck when he gets embarrassed. He's more adept at memes than any teenager I know, but can pronounce the damn word for the life of him. He puts his socks on inside out, and I have no idea why. He hates his scars but when you compliment him, in whatever way, he smiles without fail. There are over two-hundred-fifty-billion stars in our galaxy alone, and he shines brighter than any blue super-giant recorded. The Epic of Gilgamesh is the oldest known piece of literature; what I feel for Buchannan seems infinitely older.

Instead, she says, "Lions are jackasses. The males don't do much and they don't really take care of their prides; that's mostly what the females do. Male cats have barbs on their penises, and thank God I'm not a cat, because I wouldn't be a happy kitty with that particular arrangement."

Pepper doesn't say a word. It's a funny thing, silence. It says a lot more than anything else ever could. Until it doesn't.

"Eve, I missed my period," Pepper whispers.

Eve closes her eyes. She grits her teeth against a sob.

"I... I want you to be the godmother."

Now, she laughs. It's a bitter, wretched thing. "Pepper, I fucked up bad. I was an absolute—“

"It doesn't matter anymore, Eve, because we're family." Pepper seems offended that Eve would even attempt to refuse the offer. "I don't know if Tony... I don't know what's going to happen, but like it or not you're stuck with us." To make her point, Pepper grabs Eve's hand and squeezes.

And the compound shakes.

Pepper is running, Eve right behind her.

They go onto the airfield. An enormous spaceship touches down. More accurately, it's set down by a glowing blonde-haired woman. The ramp opens, and out comes Tony Stark, supported by a very blue individual. Steve runs to help. Pepper follows. Together, they head inside.

Eve hesitates. The raccoon (she never got his name, but he likes pretzels with mustard and is therefore a definite ally) has sit down beside the blue woman. They spend a moment together, and while Eve doesn't want to break it up, she's pretty sure that the new lady needs attention.

"Hey," she says, a bit monotonously. The pair looks up. "If Tony is on death's door, I'm guessing you need help, too. Come on inside and I'll do what I can."

The formerly-aglow woman looks at her severely. "What, no thank you?" she snips. Eve smiles bleakly.

"Sorry, shit's been rough. Thank you. You look healthy but I can make you a sandwich or something, if you want."

The snappiness disappears. She nods a bit. "Yeah, sure."

"Who are you?" the blue woman asks coldly on the way in.

The raccoon answers for Eve. "Dunno her name, but she's a balance of asshole and sweetheart, so—“

"Don't call me that," Eve says sharply. The three newcomers stare. "I'm Eve Robertson. Call me anything but 'sweetheart', please."

"Apparently sweetheart here is touchy."

Eve pins the raccoon with a teary, furious glare. "I said don't call me 'sweetheart' and I meant it. One more time and I castrate you."

The blue woman nods. "You are fierce. I am Nebula. The talking rodent is Rocket."

"Carol Danvers," the space-woman-that-doubles-as-a-night-light introduces.

"Great, now get inside."

~*~

"It's been twenty-three days since Thanos came to Earth."

"World governments are in pieces," Natasha says haltingly, "and the parts that are still working are trying to take a census but it looks like he did... he did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent of all living creatures."

Tony takes a breath. "Where is he now? Where?"

"We don't know. He just opened a portal and walked through," Steve answers dully.

"What's wrong with him?" Tony points at the god of thunder. Thor, who has been bitchier than anyone else in the compound, and with good reason. Eve worries about him. He doesn't eat much of anything. It can't be good, what with his superhuman metabolism.

Rocket answers the question. "Well, he's pissed. He thinks he failed. Which, of course, he did but you know, there's a lot of that going around, ain't there?"

Tony looks dumbstruck. Then, as always, his wit reboots. "Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear."

"Maybe I am."

"We've been hunting Thanos for three weeks, now." Steve gets everyone back on track. Eve stares at her hands. She doesn't remembering peeling them, but she's worked from her thumb to her middle finger. "Deep space scans and satellites and we got nothing." A pause. "Tony, you fought him."

"Who told you that? I didn't fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleeker Street magician gave away the store. That's what happened. There was no fight, he beat me."

"Alright, did he give you any clues? Any coordinates, anything?"

From his wheelchair, Tony makes a brain fart noise. "I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision, I didn't wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming."

"Tony, I'm going to need you to focus—“

"And I needed you." Eve flinches. She knows those words aren't just directed at Steve. "That is in past tense, that trumps what you need. It's too late, buddy. Sorry. You know what I need?" He shoves the food Eve gave him and stands up. "I need to shave. And what I believe I remember telling you is—“

Rhodes tries and fails to stop Tony from ripping his I.V. out.

"—otherwise was that we needed a suit of armor around the world, remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not. That's what we needed."

Steve doesn't waver. "Well, that didn't work out, did it?"

"I said we'd lose. You said we'd do that together, too. And guess what, Cap? We lost. You weren't there. But that's what we do, right? Our best work after the fact? What are we, the Avengers? The Avengers, not the Prevengers. Right?"

Rhodes is now holding Tony up. "Okay, you made your point, now just sit down."

"Okay? No, no, no. Here's my point."

"Just sit down—“

"I've got nothing for you, Cap!" Tony has broken free and stepped towards Steve, finger raised. "I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero, zip, nada. No trust. Liar."

No trust. Liar.

Eve tastes blood. When did she start biting her lip? No, not biting. She peeled the skin off. Huh.

"Here, take this. You find him, you put that on, you hide."

Tony collapses.

~*~

Pepper, Bruce, and Eve are by Tony's bedside.

"He doesn't hate Steve," Eve says quietly, staring at the ragged face of her friend. She's not worthy to call him that, not after what she's done, but damn it all, she's not letting go. "Will he forgive him, though?"

The real question is hidden in those words. Will he forgive me?

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Pepper doesn't respond. Bruce changes the subject.

"Eve, when did you last sleep?"

His voice is all too gentle. Eve thinks about it, though, and finds herself shrugging. "I get maybe an hour or two."

"A day?"

Eve grunts, non-committal.

"Eve. How often?"

"Depends on if I'm drinking caffeine or not. Coffee works wonders, much better than any drug could. Less side-effects."

"I can give you a sedative," he offers. "Just the once. It's not healthy—"

"I know." Realizing she snapped, Eve sighs. She puts her head in her hands. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I just... don't want to. The human body can go eleven days without sleep, this is day nine, I'm fine. I just need coffee."

No, her mind corrects, you don't need coffee. You need to know if your theory is right or not.

"Bruce," she says warily, "I've had a thought. Do you think using the stones could reverse everything? It's possible, I know it is. Right?"

"Try and sleep, okay, Eve?"

She makes a mental note to do anything but that.

Humans can go eleven days without sleep, after all. It's only day nine.

Bruce leaves the room. Pepper asks Eve to leave, too.

~*~

"Eve!"

She looks up at Steve, not sure why he's in uniform again. Until she sees the small band of ragtag survivors, all similarly dolled up for the occasion.

"There might be a way to bring them back," Steve says hurriedly, "so I need you to man the phones while we're out."

Eve looks down. Dried blood is crusted under her nails. His shoes have the similar stains. "You're going to use the stones, aren't you? Steve, that's—"

"It could work."

"It could kill all of you," she argues, but there's no fight in her tone. Just resignation. Acceptance. "Look, I get how the promise of hope might be enough, but if this fails, think of how deep your grave will be. Just... it would be easier to accept it, wouldn't it?" Her voice cracks. "They won't be coming back, Steve. Going after Thanos will just up his body count."

"That's a risk I'll take." His voice is as cold as the ice he was frozen in. "We'll be back."

She doesn't ask him to stay safe. That would be idiotic of her, after all, and she doesn't want to hope anymore. She wants to accept. No, not accept. She wants to feel numb again. But the nerves are stung by air, the hydrogen is burning, and the heroes leave for a hopeless mission.

They come back two days later. Eve doesn't ask what happened. There were no phone calls.

~*~

"Eve? Tony's awake. He wants to talk."

Eve is nervous. She hasn't been feeling an abundance of emotions as of late. She's felt grief, the sadness that comes with it, and she's felt nervous. It's not a varied palette, but it's better than nothing. Right?

She sits down by Tony. Pepper leaves them be. There's no hesitation; the moment the door closes, Tony is talking.

"You know, Sugar, I know I should be completely pissed at you. I'm not, though. Might be the sedative. Anyways, not angry, very disappointed, and let's get one thing clear. You aren't getting my trust back easy. While you were getting cozy with my mom's murderer, I dealt with all the shit. Got it? You seeing the picture I'm painting?"

"Yes."

"Great, at least you aren't nearly as set in your assholishness as Steve." He waves a hand absentmindedly. "Now, no getting out of it because Pepper is adamant, but I'm pregnant—actually, no. Pepper's pregnant. And she wants you to be the godmother. Took the test and everything," he whispers, the barest hint of awe in his eyes. He clears his throat. "Anyways, Sugar, you have a lot to make up for. I mean, really. That shit wasn't right."

"I know."

"Are you going to apologize?"

"I don't know if it would help or not. I am sorry," she amends, "but those are just words. Words don't amount for much in this situation."

"Finally, someone who talks like a grown up. Start making it up to me by skedaddling, though. I'm not kicking you out, but I am actually kicking you out. I'll give you a call when I feel less like I'm about to simultaneously throw up and punch someone."

Eve says her goodbyes. She doesn't have anything to pack. Tony does let her skim through the censuses, though, and she finds her parents.

That reunion is far less pleasant.

She finds her father at home, drunk in the living room. He doesn't curse, doesn't scream, doesn't do anything but ask her to go. He wants her gone. He says that her mom is dead—a car accident resulting from the driver in front of her crumbling out of existence—and that he doesn't want to see Eve's face again.

But this is her father. He's screwed up, but he's her dad, and she couldn't leave him.

Staying hurts. She deals with his hangovers and his drunken rages. Like before, he never lays a hand on her. Like before, she grins and bears it, because she doesn't know what else to do. And on and on it goes for six months. Then the liver failure sets in.

It takes six days for him to pass. When he does, Eve donates everything she can. What she can't is either sold or trashed. This leaves on thing for Eve to do.

She calls Nakia and asks if she would be welcome back. For once, she is.

Wakanda isn't so much in ruins as it is in recovery. Nakia fills her in on the past seven and a half months. Eve asks what she can do to help and the acting queen fiddles with the ring on her finger. An engagement ring T'Challa never got to propose with. Eve pushes the thought from her mind. It will lead to Buchannan, like nearly everything does, and then the cycle starts again.

Eve becomes an integral part of the Research and Disaster Relief Team. Apparently, one of the children she used to babysit was orphaned by Thanos's version of Ring Around The Rosie. In addition to non-stop work, she's more or less adopted Adeyemi, who is growing very well. At three years old, he's not old enough to understand why Eve is now taking care of him. Between all of this. the nightmares of both her living and dreaming life, and the renewed coffee addiction, Eve is on thin ice.

The straw that broke the camel's back comes in the form of an abrupt siege on Wakanda's country.

Eve smiles at Adeyemi. His chubby face is glowing with happiness. The boy doesn't know why walking and shaking his butt makes Eve laugh, but since it does, he's more than willing to keep at it.

Then there's an explosion.

It knocks Eve off her feet and into an adobe house. Her ears ring. Her vision swims. Somewhere, through the haze of dust and gunfire, there's crying. Eve vaguely sees a shape lying a few feet away. It's less a body than a mangled mass of flesh and bone and blistering skin, really, but Eve knows.

It takes a long time for Eve to realize that the crying is coming from her.

~*~

Nakia kneels in front of Eve. There's a sadness to her that Eve really doesn't care about.

"Eve, let us take Adeyemi," she says softly. Eve holds what's left of Adeyemi closer. His femur dangles by its tendon. His shoe is still on. "Eve, it's time to let him rest."

Eve stares. Adeyemi stares, too. Nakia takes him away.

She gets the call a few days later. Tony wants her to come and meet Morgan. It's the third time he's called, apparently. Eve leaves Wakanda with ghosts in her footsteps and war in her shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
YA lyublyu tebya, Lebed', i ya ne ostanovlyus'. Vy krasivy, vy umny, vy stoite bol'she, chem ya mog by dat' vam, i ya slishkom egoistichen, chtoby otpustit' vas. -|- I love you, Swan, I will not stop. You are beautiful, you are smart, you are worth more than I can be for you, I am too selfish to let you go.  
YA khochu zhenit'sya na tebe. YA sdelayu eto zdes' i seychas, yesli eto oznachayet, chto vy budete v bezopasnosti. Prosto skazhi da, skazhi da. -|- I want to marry you. I will do it here and now if that means you will be safe. Just say yes, say yes.  
Vykhodi za menya zamuzh, Lebed'. Skazhi da. Vykhodi za menya. -|- Marry me, Swan. Say yes. Marry me.  
Da, lyubov', prosto ... svyatoye der'mo, Buchannan. -|- Yes, love, just... holy shit, Buchannan.


	39. |CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will get better. It always does. Half the world is dead, and realistically there would be crazy amounts of chaos in the aftermath of the Blip, and with Wakanda as a technologically advanced society they'd be a huge target for raids. That's the only reason I did that. However, on a lighter side, there's going to be healing. I'm not one for spoilers, but this story had gotten a bit dark, and I feel like I need to reassure y'all that everything will be okay. Grieving is a long process. This is a long story. In the end, all will be well.

Everyone has a favorite story. They might not realize it, but they do. Some like childhood tales, some like books with great plot lines, and even more like the laughter John Mulaney can get from his comedic acts. As for Eve, her favorite story is a myth from Greek lore.

Daedalus was a great artist and an even greater craftsman. He built the Labyrinth, a ginormous maze, underneath King Minos’ court in Crete. The Minotaur—a beast that basically wanted to kill everyone for its misfortune—lived in it, and each year seven men and seven women were sent into the Labyrinth as tributes to King Minos. Eventually, the Minotaur was killed by Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, and a hero named Theseus.

To keep the Labyrinth’s secrets hidden, Daedalus was imprisoned in a tower with his son, Icarus. There’s something to be said about the mind of an inventor—it doesn’t do well when restricted in any shape or form. There’s also something to be said about the mind of a young man—they don’t do well when locked in a cage. The father and son conspired to escape. Their solution?

Wings.

Daedalus made two pairs of wings from wax and feathers. He taught Icarus how to fly with them. He only had to steer clear of two things. If he flew too high, the sun would melt the wax. If he flew too low, the water would soak the feathers. Both would end in death.

Being free made Icarus drunk. He soared ever higher, laughing, until the wax scorched his skin and he fell to his death. Did you know falling from a great height into water has the impact of hitting concrete? If he didn’t die on impact, he drowned. Either are horrible ways to die.

Daedalus kept on flying. He reached Sicily and was welcomed by its king, Cocalus. He built a temple to Apollo and offered his wings to the god. Meanwhile, King Minos began to search for Daedalus. He proposed a riddle to every place he went. King Cocalus knew he could solve it.

The king asked Daedalus, "How do you run a string through a seashell?"

"By tying the string to an ant and luring it through with a drop of honey," the inventor had replied.

King Minos knew Daedalus was in King Cocalus’ court when the riddle was solved. He demanded to see Daedalus. Instead, King Cocalus’ daughters killed King Minos while he was in the bath.

Eve doesn’t see herself as King Cocalus’ daughters, ready to kill to save one man’s life. She doesn’t see herself as King Minos, desperate to keep secrets hidden, nor as King Cocalus, who was willing to use whatever resources at his disposal to help another. She doesn’t even see herself as Icarus, Theseus, or Ariadne.

She sees herself as Daedalus, and this is why he is her favorite story.

~

“Hey Tony, it’s Eve. I’m coming to meet Morgan and catch up with you guys, but I need a ride from J.F.K. International Airport to your place. Give me a call? Please? I have an hour left before I board, but I’ll be in Queens soon. I mean, in fifteen hours or so. But soon.”

Eve ends the voicemail. She’s surprised she was cleared to make the flight at all, but without a concussion or inner cranial bleed, Eve got the green light. The terminal is bustling with noise and related activity. Despite all the security guards, armed to the teeth, Eve is on edge.

She can’t help it. Every crying child is Adeyemi, every raised voice an enemy running forward. It’s all in her head, just not-so-distant memories, but God, Eve can’t breathe right to remind herself of that.

Finally, the plane is open for boarding. First Class saunters in. Then everyone else piles on. It’s a mess of limbs and luggage. Someone curses. Someone coughs—hacks, really. Eve tucks herself in her seat and stares at her hands.

No blood, no ash, no dust and gore.

Just dry skin and shaking fingers.

Hours fade in and out. Eve doesn’t fall asleep. She feels herself nodding off and jolts away, a request for coffee on her tongue. She guzzles three before the flight attendant tells her she’s cut off. After that, Eve makes do with listening to music. She never really did like grunge metal, but it does the trick.

The plane lands. First Class takes their sweet time getting off. Eve doesn’t bother trying to struggle through the other passengers once they’re cleared to unload. They scramble and fight among themselves. Only after they’ve thinned in number does Eve get a flight attendant to pull down her suitcase.

Tony isn’t waiting for her outside. Instead, it’s Colonel James Rhodes. He’s leaning against one of Tony’s sports cars, unsmiling. In lieu of greeting, he gently takes her bag and puts it in the trunk. He holds the door open for her. He looks sad. Concerned, even.

He knows, Eve decides. Her forced smile slips from her face.

“Thank you, James.”

He nods. “Anytime.”

The ride is peaceful. James makes absent conversation. Eve indulges him, if only to fill the silence.

Soon enough, they arrive.

Tony Stark bought a lakeside cabin. Eve stares at it. She hadn't been able to bike here, unfortunately, and she'd had to pay the Uber a generous amount to even get him this far, but she's here all right. There's a spacecraft parked in the driveway. Eve’s fingers itch to explore it, to run over every wire and circuit.

"I'll get your bag and take it to your room," James tells her, opening the door for her.

She swallows her emotions--grin and bear it--and walks up the steps. One knock is all it takes.

"Eve!" Tony yells, grinning wide and manic. He pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. Eve chokes back any painful noises that would have escaped. The inside of her cheek bleeds. Tony holds her at arm's length. "Why didn't you answer my—whoa, Sugar, what happened? You look like... well, bad."

"Wakanda had an abrupt attack. People died, I didn't." Eve shrugs the unspoken questions away. Every breath aches. "How's Pepper?"

"Oh, exhausted. Newborns have to get fed, like, every other hour. Are you sure--"

"They have to get fed every two to three hours."

“Yeah, that too. Now come on, godmother, meet your goddaughter. Then we get to have a nice long chat."

Pepper is asleep, so Eve and Tony wisely leave her be. But little Morgan is awake in a swing that Eve is pretty sure Tony made. The new father scoops her up and transfers her very ineptly. He'll get the hang of it, of course, and Eve is quick to adjust her hold. The tiny thing is dressed in a pink onesie. She has no eyebrows or hair, save for an impressive thatch of dark sideburns. She looks almost like a miniature founding father.

Eve's soul relaxes instantly.

This. This, she knows.

"Hello Morgan," she whispers, swaying a bit. Morgan greets her with an impressive sneeze. "Tony, a tissue, please?"

Morgan has the prettiest blue eyes. Eve lets herself imagine a different baby. The first is dark skinned and dark eyed, with a fat, happy mouth and a proud belly. The second is a mystery, something that could have been had the world been fairer. That one most definitely wouldn't be named Archibald. Eve feels tears gather in her eyes. Morgan gurgles in the absent, astute way babies do. Tony doesn't question the deep, unsteady breaths. He sighs.

"It hasn't even been a year, Eve, give yourself time. I am." There's a brief pause. "Nebula, I'm pretty sure we talked about proper greetings and how they don't involve standing creepily in doorways."

Eve quickly wipes her face. Nebula looks at her blankly.

"Hello," the alien says, focusing very intently on Morgan. "Tony made me her godmother."

Huh. Two godmothers. One is an ex-space-assassin and the other is a former criminal inventor. That's very... Tony-like.

"Rhodey is her godfather," Tony chimes in. He claps Nebula on the shoulder, the brave man. "Pepper picked you, I picked Nebula, and we settled on Rhodemaster. And Happy, but he's on vacation."

From the kitchen, there's an indignant, "Don't call me that, Anthony."

"I'm sorry, Texas Rhodehouse, did you say something?"

"Nothing that can be repeated with children present."

"Tony can leave the room," Nebula suggests.

So, Eve thinks with a small smile. This is what his family has become. How crazy to think that I have an opportunity to be a part of it.

Morgan shrieks. Everyone crowds around, more or less freaking out about the crying child. They ask questions frantically and, nearly all at once, grab for Morgan. Eve just laughs—not hollowly, to her shock—and bounces to a different beat. She changes Morgan's position from cradled in her arms to propped against her chest. She quiets quickly.

Tony breathes out, "Thank God," and Rhodey just stares, dumbstruck.

"How did you do that?" Nebula demands.

And Eve explains. Morgan drifts off on her shoulder. It's another ten minutes or so before Morgan decides that sleep is overrated and food is not. By then, the three parents (drafted into the job, of course, save for Tony) are prepared.

Pepper and Eve talk. The Blip is not mentioned, though Eve wants to comment on how trashy that name is. Eve smiles as Pepper gushes about Morgan. They act like there isn't a six-foot-tall-and-blue-eyed someone missing from Eve's side.

Over dinner, the duration of Eve's stay is negotiated. Is she sure she can't stay longer than two weeks? Really, calls can be arranged to extend the vacation, so they insist. Eve doesn't relent. This is a reprieve. Reprieves never last very long. She still has to help Wakanda and the surrounding nations. The Avengers help during the problem; she helps after.

"That's just how it goes," she says with a dutiful laugh. No one buys it. Pepper and Tony exchange a glance that Eve doesn't miss but elects to ignore. Before the conversation can continue focusing on Eve, the orthotist pushes on. "So, Nebula, how is Earth cuisine? Any better than space?"

"It is sufficient."

And on they go.

Eve sleeps in a spare room. She doesn't have anything to unpack. She won't be sleeping, either, but there's a strange comfort to lying in bed. The covers are thick, soft, and warm. They weigh nicely on Eve. She closes her eyes.

I won't be sleeping, she tells herself firmly.

I won't be sleeping, she tells herself drowsily.

She ends up sleeping.

Eve wakes up in a cold sweat. Nightmares trickle out her mouth in sobs. She tastes ash in her mouth. If she looks at her hands, she sees dust and blood, and she's quick to cover her face with her arms. There's no stirring in the house to indicate she woke anyone up. She stifles her crying, anyways.

Shut your eyes. Breathe in through your nose, hold it, breathe out through your mouth. Repeat. Open your eyes. Now, focus on your hands. No blood, no dust. Just waxy, rough skin and memories. It was a nightmare, it's in the past, and you're alive. Blink the tears away. Breathe some more. Relax. And for the love of God, don't go back to sleep.

Eve steadies herself. No sleeping. Not an option, not now. That leaves something she'd very good at. Staying awake.

Two pots of coffee and a cold shower do the trick. Eve decides that she'll make breakfast for anyone while she gingerly puts on some clothes. That'll be a lot of pancakes and sausage to make. Eve winces at the thought of anything close to strenuous, but some things are to be sacrificed. She can flinch through a bit of pain. It's not like she hasn't been doing that for the past nine months. Nine will stretch into a year and further still.

Eve makes her way to the kitchen. She gets a pan out and clicks the stove top on. Bacon would be good, too. Eve might eat if there's bacon.

"You've had nightmares."

Eve swings the whisk towards Nebula, her gasp one of pain and surprise. The ex-assassin only stares, her expression piercing and veiled. Eve clears her throat. Her cheeks burn.

"Um. Sorry. Yeah, nightmares, but I figure homemade breakfast would do everyone good, so--"

"Tony said you loved an assassin with an arm of metal," she interrupts, arms crossed. "You taught him how to be human again."

Oh. That's where this is going.

"I didn't teach him, really," Eve admits. Her hands flutter around uselessly. "He always was human; he was just twisted around to be an assassin. They—HYDRA, the people who screwed him over for seventy-some years—they used a form of electroshock to target the hippocampus and they used a series of words to program Buchannan into the Winter Soldier. It was a selective type of brainwashing and physical tempering. Between that and training, he learned to suppress whatever memories or thoughts that surfaced. So, yeah, it was more being there and lending a hand instead of actually doing anything."

Nebula hesitates. Then: "Teach me to be human."

Eve blinks owlishly. "What?"

"Thanos raised me to be the galaxy's most feared killer. I was never enough. I was punished every time I failed to meet his demands. I have never been human." Nebula's voice sharpens. "Teach me how to be human. I want to feel human."

I want to feel human.

Oh, don't we all?

"Nebula, I'm going to be honest with you. You can be stripped of humanity, you can think yourself to be a monster or something like that, but you never stop being. Humanity is different from what you're asking for. I can help you understand what you're feeling, but you're already enough. You always have been. Thanos was just an a-hole. But you can start by helping me with breakfast, I always under cook the sausage."

They work in tandem. Eve gratefully lets Nebula get things from high up. She shows her how to cook, asks her about space, tells her about earth. Nebula doesn't relax. Eve doesn't expect her to. This is their third time speaking one-on-one.

"Whoa, when did you start making this?" Tony demand, bumbling into the kitchen with Morgan in his arms.

Eve shrugs. "Sometime after three and before seven."

"It was 6:12," Nebula says helpfully.

Pepper stumbles into a chair, curses, and thanks Nebula and Eve for the meal. James comes in. Instead of pouring him a cup of coffee, Eve gestures to the Keurig. "Pot's mine, bud, so kip on over."

"You're drinking an entire pot?"

"No." Eve sips languidly. "This is my third pot."

"Holy—"

"No swearing!" Tony says immediately.

"Pepper just cursed!"

"Pepper can curse, she went through nine months of pregnancy and many hours of labor."

"Damn right I can," Pepper mumbles around a mouth of pancakes.

Eve leans against the counter. Despite the small smile on her mouth, she feels the thick cloud she's come to associate with sadness in her chest. Watching them banter over breakfast is painful. She's happy for them, of course. They deserve this. She's also aware of the stress she's caused them.

"So, tell us about that Wakanda attack. I haven't heard about it. Not from you, at least" Tony says, stabbing his sausage. "I know you got hurt in it, so don't bother with the cut and dry response."

"I know you're concerned, but—"

"No. Tell me."

Eve clenches her jaw against memories of dust and gore raining down. "No."

"No?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Tony."

"I do."

“Fine,” Tony says coolly. “Don’t talk to me. In fact, don’t talk to anyone. Stew and keep your gloominess to yourself.”

Eve glares at him. Instead of saying something she’ll regret, Eve mumbles something about being on baby duty and gets Morgan. She walks to the other room.

Eve runs into Rocket. It's strange to see a biped raccoon cleaning a gun in the living room. Eve wonders why it's strange. She should expect shit like that by now, shouldn't she?

They make decent conversation. He's coping well. He misses the nauseous aftermath of his friends' bathroom trips, the petty fights, but he's overall functioning. He does mention that Eve is enough of an asshole to be worth his time, which she takes as a compliment.

The day continues. Everyone takes turns with Morgan. When not on Baby Duty, they do chores or sleep.

Eve doesn't sleep. She makes more coffee. She doesn't look in the mirror. Coffee also acts as a laxative; that coupled with her eating habits, or lack thereof, makes for a rapidly thinning appearance. She can't forget the shaking and sweating and puking associated with her hypoglycemia, which she pretends she doesn't have in favor of, well, nothing. Oh, and the sleep deprivation.

Did you know that sleep deprivation effects your cognitive abilities? It takes away your ability to pay attention and retain knowledge, it impairs your alertness and reasoning and concentration, and your problem solving may as well be a thing of the past. Lack of sleep releases a stress hormone called cortisol; it eats away skin collagen. Eve's eyes are puffy and the dark circles under them look less like symptoms of insomnia and more like miniature black holes. Other effects include an increased risk of death, physical health issues, obesity, and more.

Eve knows all of this. Her mind still rings with words scrawled across multiple ratty journals. Words like 'future' and 'Archibald' and ‘Lebed’.' Promises that sound like 'We won't,' 'I'll always remember for you,' and 'The moment this is over.'

The last one sounds like an air raid siren. Maybe she's just tired. She smiles the piercing noise off, anyways, and she bids everyone good night.

Until the ninth day of her stay, this is how it goes.

Tony has reached his limit on watching Eve wear away with a 'grin and bear it' mentality. He recognizes it because for years and years, that's what he did. Rhodes even brings it up ("Tony, she's fixed my braces more times than I've seen her eat. Sound familiar?). So does Pepper ("I know we got lucky, Tony, but Eve...") and Nebula ("Help the small human before I do it for you."). Hell, Rocket is concerned ("She's organized the ship, cleaned my guns, and rewired the weapon-panel to fire quicker. You think that's normal?")

He tells her to sleep on the tenth day of her stay. There's no smile on his face. She nods anyways and says, "Of course," in the way that means, 'I'm sorry.' And he understands. God, does he understand. He knows a lot about unhealthy, self-destructive habits and inclinations. This sure as hell is one of hers.

Her average is six or seven pots a day. Tony decides to treat this like he would an addiction. It's what it is, really. An addiction and a distraction. So, when everyone's presumably asleep, he sneaks into the kitchen and confiscates all caffeinated products. In the living room, he pauses.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., give me stats on Sugar."

"Heart rate is increased, sir, and her body temperature is elevated. Vitals signs suggest chronic dehydration and malnutrition. She has gone three days without food and has not entered REM sleep since her first night. She is currently vomiting. Shall inform her that you are on your way?"

He blinks. "Um. She's puking?"

"Yes, sir, unless there is another definition for the word 'vomiting' that I'm unaware of."

Why did I program everything to be so sarcastic? "Don't tell her. Any other health concerns I should be aware of?"

"No."

"Great."

Tony grabs a glass of orange juice and trudges into her room. It looks like it did before she came, unsurprisingly. He hears ragged breathing and a bit of spitting from the bathroom. He doesn't bother knocking.

Eve is curled around the toilet. She mumbles could be an apology or an excuse. He's not sure.

"You know, not eating is bad for hypoglycemia."

"Who'd have guessed?" she mutters. She avoids eye contact. "Gonna chew me out?"

"I'm in no place to. I'm wondering why you won't get help, though."

"Bothered you enough, haven't I?" She rinses her mouth out in the sink. The toilet flushes. Tony nearly smacks her for saying something so stupid.

"That's what family does, Eve, they bother each other and even when you hate them, you still love them to a degree. Right? I'm pretty sure that's how that works, anyways." He shrugs. "The point is, you did me wrong. I forgive you. I won't forget, naturally, but I'm not going to hold it against you. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself like this anymore. Got it?"

Silence. "Tony—"

"Got it?" he repeats, trying out his 'Dad Voice'. It worked on Peter. It doesn't work on Eve, who only frowns at him.

"Tony, I spent two years babysitting. I am a master at the Parent Voice."

"Worth a shot. Sip on that, I'm getting you peanut butter bread and water."

He doesn't mention that he will, in fact, be drugging the water with ramelteon, a prescription he'd gotten a while back and never really used. It's an illegal practice, giving someone else your pills, but Tony figures he can let it slide this once.

She's out soon after she's finished eating. Tony props himself up beside her. He knows. She'll have a nightmare, she'll wake up, she'll fight sleep. He's done it countless times. Sure enough, it starts.

It's a twitch. A tensing. Then, there's movement. Her hands grasp as the sheets. She whimpers. By now, her breathing has changed from deep, slow breaths to panting. She shakes. A word slips out, quiet and tinged with terror, and Tony can't make out what she'd said. It doesn't matter. A second passes and she's staggering upright. Another and she's out of bed, headed for the bathroom. Tony holds her hair back.

This might be harder than I'd thought, he thinks. Eve trembles in his arms. Talking. Talking helps.

"What happened, Sugar?" He pitches his voice softer, like he does with Morgan.

"Explosives." She sobs. "They—God, Tony, they wired teenagers—and Ade... Adeyemi, he was—"

She breaks off, crying harder. Tony hugs her tighter, only to freeze at the way she jerks. She's still hurt, then.

"Did you get looked at?"

"Had three broken ribs. Rest was cuts an' scrapes."

And she kept doing work? What the hell

Eve draws in a shuddering breath. She's trying to steady herself. It doesn't work. She's bawling again; she doesn't try to stop herself. Drugging her hadn't been a good idea, then.

He holds her. She doesn't puke again. When she falls asleep, Tony stays on the bathroom floor. He doesn't dare try to move.

He wonders why Steve isn't there for her. Barnes and him were butt buddies, right? Wouldn't they make some sort of pact? 'If I die, look after Eve. If you die, I look after Birdbrain?' Of course, that's what they'd do. So why is no one checking in on Eve?

If Tony Stark was to look up Steve Rogers, he'd find him acting as a wandering therapist-cum-advisor. If Tony Stark was to find him and talk to him, skipping pretense, he'd discover that Steve Rogers hadn't forgotten about the aforementioned deal. He'd find out that Captain America simply couldn't find it in himself to care. And who could blame him?

Lots of people, actually, but that will be dealt with later on.

Eve wakes up fully sometime in the afternoon. Tony is snoring, his head at an odd angle between the sink and the wall. She remembers what happened, albeit hazily. She grimaces. Her body aches. The foul taste of vomit lingers in her mouth.

Eve shifts, sitting up. Tony blinks awake and wipes drool from his chin. He groans.

"Remind me never to sleep like that again."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Sugar?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

"Just don't drug me again."

Tony shrugs. "No promises. I'll use a smaller dose next time." At her frown, he smiles sheepishly. "I used two pills. I honestly could have used half of one, but I wanted to be sure that you were out."

"Are... are you serious?"

"Always am."

She snorts. "That's a lie if I've ever heard one. Help me up, I feel woozy."

Tony helps her up.

He's lucky not to have lost his family. He has Pepper, Rhodey, Nebula, Eve. He has Morgan and Rocket, and Happy is currently vacationing somewhere in the Dominican Republic. He lost the Avengers, sure, but he still has a family. He lost Peter, though. And Eve lost that kid. Arnie, did she say? Or was it Addison? Whichever name, Tony can understand.

He'll be damned if he lets Eve grieve alone.

If Eve is Daedalus, then Tony must be King Cocalus. Or something like that. He still doesn't quite get why she likes that myth so much, but he overheard her telling the story to Morgan one evening and hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since.

Anyways.

Tony might have been let down countless times by Eve, but she is family, and that means something.

Of course, that gets hard when she realizes that he's thrown out all coffee-related products. She doesn't throw a tantrum, to her credit, but she does tell Tony where he can put her coffee. He takes the abuse with a self-satisfied smile.

The next few days go by steadily. Eve eats three meals a day (Small meals, but it's a start) and is given nothing but water and juice to drink (No protests on that one, thankfully). She gets close to Nebula, Rocket, and Rhodey. It surprises Tony how quickly the space-traversing pair take to her. They don't show it in a normal way, of course, but it's obvious she's grown on them. Rhodey is oddly protective of her. He won't explain why.

Eve gains a bit of color back. Getting her to sleep proves the most difficult, though. She averages maybe two hours a night, three if she's lucky, but she insists she deal with that on her own.

"Tony, you and Pepper have a newborn. James deals with PTSD and doubles as a government asset. Rocket and Nebula would suggest I fight or blow something up." She gesticulates wildly. Tony has no idea how waving her hands around translates to 'Let me do this myself, ass hat.' "I got this. And I'm even getting a therapist, so I'm fine."

F.R.I.D.A.Y. updates Tony every morning on her sleep cycle. According to data, she's not fine. He lets it's go, anyways. He has to pick his battle. That one isn't his.

Her two weeks of reprieve finish up. Eve leaves everything as neat as it was and promises that she'll stay in touch. Rocket and Nebula leave a few hours later, their ship kicking up stones as it ascends. Rhodes stays for dinner, though, and without so much company, Tony decides to weasel some information out of him. He's kind enough to wait for Pepper to take Morgan to bed first, though.

"So, Rhodey. Any reason why you got to attached to Eve?"

Rhodes leans back in his chair. He looks tired. No, not tired. Sad. Sad and pissed off.

"Before Thanos started his assault on Wakanda, I was outside with Wilson and Barnes." He looks at the table. It's not a very interesting thing to look at. "Barnes showed off an engagement ring."

Tony has felt his heart stop before. Well, not stop. But the feeling is still unwelcome. Especially when the reason lies in the fact that Eve is basically a widow.

"He proposed."

"He was going to after the fight."

"Shit," Tony whispers. He runs a hand over his face. "Barnes was going to propose. Does Eve know?"

He shakes his head. "No, and she doesn't know about Steve's promise to look after her, either." That last bit is said coldly. Rhodey almost looks terrifying with his arms crossed and his expression hard. "He didn't know about Barnes' plan. I mean, I know Steve tends to be a difficult person, but that's just fucked up."

Tony agrees completely.

"No wonder you went all Guard Dog on her," he comments.

Rhodey only huffs.

They wash the dishes together. Rhodey leaves in his suit. Tony dreams about fighting Steve Rogers in a Costco parking lot.

Eve slides through the isle. She has a window seat this time.


	40. |CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT|

"Eve."

Okoye stands in the way of the sun. It blurs around her like a blazing halo; if Eve was one to believe in angels, she has no doubt that she'd think the general was one.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Eve asks, her smile weak.

The general walks forward. Her spear, armor, and earrings look molten. If Eve hadn't gotten so close to her, she might be intimidated. "You are leaving for Dubai, I didn't want you leaving without saying goodbye."

Eve hugs her friend. Then they sit, staring at both the tree and the sunrise. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Okoye speaks again.

"Nakia is upset. She bet that you would spend time by the lake. I bet on the tree."

She snorts. "Of course, you'd bet on what I do before leaving. How much did you win?"

"Enough to finally get a Starbucks here."

"You... wow. What did Nakia lose?"

"Money, but Starbucks is popular. It will not be a great loss of money."

Eve's mouth thins. "Shuri would have got a kick out of this."

"And T'Challa would have never lost the bet."

They share a reminiscent, albeit melancholy laugh. It doesn't last. They sober quickly. Okoye has an army to tend to. Eve has to go on her vacation. Her therapist had suggested she take a break and let herself feel while the three-year anniversary of the Blip comes and goes.

She could have went to Tony's place, but Morgan is in her terrible twos and she really doesn't want to add any more stress to them than necessary. Besides, some time alone might do her some good.

With another hug and a final goodbye, they part ways.

~*~

The Avengers Compound in Upstate New York is still.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. is disabled; her lilt doesn't charm the corridors. All the employees have been gone for years. Some rooms are messy, ransacked. Others are neat, as if they'd never been used. There's no draft or pests or lack of electricity, and yet the large building and its storage units are devoid of life. Like a ghost, a lone Avenger walks these halls.

Natasha has been at it for two years, give or take. She's gotten every government agency, political party, and ally-asset in her reach to help her. Hell, she's even gone out herself. But Clint Barton was a spy, an assassin, and he doesn't want to be found.

There's bodies, but no trail. There's leads, but they're all dead ends.

She's so fucking lonely. She just wants her best friend back.

But what can she do? She's tried everything. Steve told her to accept that this is what Clint's going to be, that this is his choice and she needs to respect it. She told him to stick it. Then she begged Tony for help. He told her no. He offered her dinner and asked if she wanted to meet his daughter. Natasha hadn't known that Pepper had been pregnant. She didn't stay to meet their kid.

There's one last person she can ask for help. Someone that she can't trust but can depend on. She's handled volatile assassins, recovering murderers, and drunks alike. She was good enough with electronics, be it disabling or hacking into them. She isn't a threat, either.

Natasha has never really spoken to Eve Robertson. She supposes it's time to meet her old mentor's girlfriend.

The ex-killer prepares herself. She dials Robertson's number. She picks up on the third ring.

"Hello." Her voice is muffled. There's chatter around her. "This is Eve Robertson."

"Hey, Eve. It's Natasha."

"Oh. Um, ok. How can I help you?"

"I need a favor."

"I'm listening."

Natasha takes a deep breath. "Clint Barton--you know him by Hawkeye, or Agent Barton--is kind of... he's off the deep end. I need to get him back."

"I, ah, well I'm not a therapist, but I mean, I could try talking to him. Excuse me, sir, that's my drink--thank you. Yeah, like I was saying. I can try. Is he at the compound?"

"No. I don't know where he is, exactly, but I think I know where he's going next."

"Ok. Give me the address."

"It's... it's not really somewhere you could drive to. It's a farm. And he's not in a good state of mind, Eve, he's dangerous and unpredictable. I know you've dealt with that before, but Clint doesn't know you. Tell him who you are, if you find him, and tell him--"

Natasha swallows a sob. Eve understands, bless her heart.

"Sure thing. Text me the address, ok? I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thank you." Please don't fuck this up, she adds internally.

"Anytime."

At the airport, Eve frowns at the text. Looks like Dubai will have to wait.

~*~

Yellows, blues, and the faintest trace of pink line the horizon. The colors blur, forming a painting that Picasso would dream of capturing; the sunrise whittles away at the earth, chipping steadily away at soil and crop, and Eve focuses on how the rising sun burns into the open field.

The farm is dew-damp. It's a beautiful, large property. Eve imagines how it might have been three years ago. She replaces the unruly land with neatly-trimmed grass spotted with weeds. Instead of an abandoned, ramshackle house with a barn off the lane, there'd be a modest homestead and a sturdy barn. Eve could easily see this place having a dog, some chickens, maybe a cow or a horse.

Now, it's a headstone in its own right.

A barn cat blinks lazily at Eve as she walks to the door. She's reminded of Goose. Is Goose alive? Half the world was spared, but Thanos didn't hesitate to remove aliens and humans alike from the universe. Eve hopes she's alive. This cat, however, is a mangy thing with big blue eyes and brown-and-white fur.

"Hi," Eve says, feeling both stupid and on edge. The cat stands, arches its back, and winds around her legs. "Friendly little guy, aren't you?"

Eve steps carefully into the house. It's surprisingly untouched. It's... eerie. Not a thing is out of place. Flies swarm the kitchen. Children's toys are sprawled out, like a small assembly of kids stopped playing and never got to pick up after themselves. Pictures hang from the walls and stand proudly on dusty shelves. It's a home, and it's been ransacked by animals and insects and left to haunt these fields.

She picks up one of the frames. She recognizes only one of the people. Clint Barton, Hawkeye, former Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., spy-cum-assassin, and once-Avenger. He's smiling at the camera. He looks genuinely happy. He doesn't look anything like the clips from catastrophic events, or in the times fans snapped pictures of him at various coffee shops. There's a beautiful woman by his side--as well as two children, a boy and a girl, and a laughing toddler.

Adeyemi.

That name is like flint. The next name is a match, poised to strike.

Buchannan.

A spark ignites.

Eve sets the frame down carefully. She exhales slowly, through her nose. Her throat burns.

It's been three years since the world 'ended'. Since they lost. Eve can hardly believe it. Three years of struggle and attempts to move on, like she said she would, and she still finds herself here.

Why hasn't she moved on?

She said she'd try to move on.

Eve makes her way through the house, checking for any signs of Clint Barton. In the end, she finds nothing. She calls Natasha to tell her as much. The former assassin is pissed and insists that Clint should be there, that Eve just needs to look.

"Natasha," she says gently, "he's not here."

Natasha hangs up. Eve decides to stay a bit longer. If Mr. Barton isn't here to pay his respects, then she should at least do that. She's already there, after all, and it would be terrible of her to just leave, wouldn't it?

She picks flowers from the overgrown field. Her chest aches with every heavy breath; it feels like a fish hook snagged on her trachea and keeps pulling, pulling, pulling. The flowers are beautiful. The day is beautiful, too. It reminds Eve of when she was a kid. For her birthday, she went hiking with her family. They made flower crowns and laid in the grass, pointing out clouds and stars and laughing at the thought of ticks on their backs. Her dad was even there. It was before the drinks. Before the money. Before Adam's recruitment.

It was Before.

There's a tree near the house. It looks like it was used for archery, if the discarded arrows and nicks in the bark are anything to go by. Eve lays the flowers on the ground, neatly arranged; she sits in front of the tree for a bit, at a loss for words but talking anyways.

She talks about Apollo, whose name stays the same in both Greek and Roman lore, because Eve can't help but be reminded of that god right now. She feels strange talking to a tree, admittedly, but it feels like the right thing to do. So, she moves from Apollo to the Muses, from the Muses to current events, from current events to I miss the Before.

The mangy cat sticks close to her heels, purring loudly. Eve pets him for nearly an hour. Her jeans are stained from dirt and grass. Brown-and-white fur clings to her shirt. The cat, who Eve has decided to name Archibald, is quite happy to be picked up and set in the basket of a rusty bicycle.

Eve finds a hotel. It's dingy and the locks are broken. It works well enough. Besides, it's the anniversary. The Blipped are being remembered and forgotten in equal measure. Eve doubts that anyone will be sober enough for crime.

She is, in fact, wrong.

The front desk is as shoddy as the rest of the hotel. The man working there frowns at his phone. Eve grabs a cup of joe and leans on the desk, curious as to why he's making such a face.

"You okay?" she asks.

The man shakes his head. "Ronin struck again. Killed six people, off in New York. Gets me wondering why the Avengers aren't doing anything anymore. We all lost--where the hell are they?" he wonders bitterly. "It's not like their job ends when half the world Blips off. People are still here, and they still need help."

They're grieving, Eve wants to say. They are working, she wants to protest. Instead, she downs the watery coffee.

"That was Before," is what she responds with instead, "and this is After."

She leaves the hotel, hands in her pockets. Archibald is a good cat. He curls up in her purse. Eve's shoes are pretty done in, she thinks mournfully. And she needs to get stuff for Archibald. Luckily, she spies a Walmart nearby and makes for it. It's not the safest area, but Eve is familiar with that sort of thing.

Buchannan used to worry about her. Even brainwashed, he made connections. Well. One connection. Maybe two, if Goose hadn't been returned to her owner. Nick Fury, was it? Sharon had mentioned a Nick Fury after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Poor man, dead like that. Who took care of Goose after that? She needs (Needed?) special care.

Eve grabs all that Archibald will need and browses the shoes. Walmart is cheap and lasts a good enough while for her to buy; her habits of 'buy affordable, use until dead' mentality haven't left. As she starts walking to the self-check out (A pair of sturdy grey sneakers in hand) she catches sight of another shopper in the mens' clothes section.

She pauses, unsure of if it could really be him. The man looks similar enough. Last she checked, Steve didn't have a beard and shaggy hair. But it has been a while. And everything else seems the same. This man is built, narrow-waisted, and has the posture of a soldier with a pole up his anus.

Time to take a gamble.

"Steve?" she calls hesitantly. The man whips around. Eve smiles tiredly; it is him. She starts walking towards him. "Hey, how are--"

He turns back to the shirts. Eve furrows her brow. Is... is he ignoring her?

"It's Eve. I don't look that different, do I?" she asks with a lame laugh. It sounds hollow even to her, but Steve only clenches his jaw. Something is wrong. "Steve, come on. Not even a 'hello'?"

"Hello," he says a bit curtly. His shoulders are tense. He grips the flannel shirt too tight; his knuckles are white. "How are you?"

So hollow. So distant.

Why?

"I'm alive," she says, holding the shoes a bit closer. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"Rough night?"

He sighs, frustrated. He looks tired, angry, maybe pained. "Look, Eve. I get that you're trying to be friendly, and I appreciate that, but I'm not in the mood for company."

Why? The question brands her eyelids. She's getting upset, now. Why is he acting like this? I mean, he just said why. But why hasn't she heard from him until now? No one has, she asked Okoye before she left.

There's only one solid answer.

She reminds him too much of Buchannan. Her closeness with Buchannan is now a wedge, instead of a tie.

"I miss him too."

He slams the shirt down. "Just go," he says tightly.

Eve inches backwards. Her fingers itch for the familiar action of peeling the skin off of her fingers, but she's managed to kick that habit and her hands are healed up now. Steve is not an ex-assassin or an alcoholic. He's not someone she has a connection with. But Buchannan and him were best friends. Buchannan would want her to talk to Steve, or at least try.

The fish hook snagged on her trachea jerks. 

"I tried to get into contact with you," she says. Her spine is rigid against the urge to turn tail. "I thought you might want to talk, or at least get lunch. I... I don't think he--"

"You don't know what he would think," America's Golden Boy snaps. Eve doesn't flinch back. He glares at her, though, and Eve feels long-festered anger rise up to meet him. "You knew him for years. I knew him for decades."

"It's not a contest and I don't very much appreciate you trying to make it into one when I'm trying to talk to you. We have Buchannan in common, it makes sense to--"

"I asked you to leave, please."

"It makes sense to talk rather than push everyone away," she continues stubbornly.

"We don't really have anything to talk about."

"True. But we could find something."

His anger seeps away. He looks over a hundred years old, like he really is. He's biologically in his twenties, and yet he's lived through multiple wars and thousands of deaths. Experience has done a number on him. Experience has done a number on both of them.

"Where's the kid?" he asks quietly.

Eve blinks, uncomprehending. "What kid? Morgan? She's with Tony and Pepper."

"No. Buck said--before everything, he said he had a surprise. You and him, you were pregnant. Where's the kid?"

"I wasn't pregnant," she says slowly, unsurely. Steve's face pales. "We never had sex, we wanted to wait. He--you said he had a surprise?"

"God," he whispers. He closes his eyes. "God."

"I don't understand. What--"

"Hey, Eve, what ring size are you?"

Eve raises her eyebrows at Buchannan. He looks nervous. He's grimy from work but handsome as ever. "Seven because I have bony knuckles. Why?"

"I wanted to buy you something and that happens to be one of the important bits I have to know beforehand."

Eve smiles. He's so sweet. Jewelry is something she rarely indulges in, but she does like it from time to time. A ring sounds lovely. She kisses his cheek; his scruff is harsh under her lips, and she smiles against his jaw. "Thank you in advance, Buchannan."

The hook yanks free, tearing her voice and her stomach contents with it.

Eve drops the shoes. She stumbles backwards, away, and bolts for the bathroom. She barely makes it before she heaves over the toilet seat. Whoever went didn't flush. Eve pukes some more. Vomit curls around her tongue, rancid. She hears Steve outside the bathroom, but the words are muffled by the horrible sound in Eve's ears. Retching and sobbing, and a broken, "Buchannan," here and there.

A ring. He was buying a ring. He was nervous. He was going to propose.

Buchannan was going to propose.

Oh, God, please, Buchannan was going to propose--

"Hey." Steve's voice is close, so close she feels his breath against her ear. His large hands are careful on her shoulders. "Hey, breathe."

His voice is not calming. Eve stares at him through her tears. He looks sad and worried. He has no fucking right, no fucking right at all to be sad and worried.

"You thought I was pregnant," she manages around a sob. "You thought I was pregnant and you didn't talk to me for three years."

He seems to understand just how big a mistake that was. Wisely, he drops his hands. "Eve," he begins, but she doesn't give him a chance. He had three years full of chances.

It's her turn to be angry. The fact that Archibald is out of her purse and glaring at her reproachfully is barely acknowledged.

"I would have needed you if I was pregnant," she hisses, and she knows just how foul her breath is in Steve's face but she can't bring herself to care. "Hell, I did need you and it wouldn't have mattered if I had a kid or not! And you still shut yourself away for three fucking years."

"Eve, please--"

She grabs his beard. "No. No, you don't get to beg for a damn thing, Rogers. I get you needed to grieve, that you're still grieving, because everyone that didn't get Blipped is in the same situation. I don't give a shit about what you've been doing. Your best friend's girlfriend was, as far as you knew, pregnant, and you still turned your fucking back."

Eve gets up on unstable legs. She looks at him, and there isn't a lick of the hope she had when she first saw him. It's all grief and rage and pain, so much pain.

"When you need me--and trust me, I know you will--I won't do a single thing and you will be the only one who knows why."

Eve leaves Steve Rogers alone in a Walmart women's bathroom stall.

She goes back to the hotel. The same man is at the desk. He looks surprised to see her.

"You again. Need the same room?"

"Yes."

"Here's the key. Hasn't been cleaned up yet, though."

"It's not a problem."

As she takes the key, he puts a hand on her wrist. Eve tenses, ready to break a bone and bolt. Wisely, the desk guy lets go.

"You look rough, lady," he says simply. "There's a bar two blocks from here, if you feel like drinking it away. Elliot'll give you a discount. He's a sucker for pretty women who look like they need to beat the shit out of someone."

"Thanks," she mutters. "Where'd you say Ronin hit again?"

"New York. Brooklyn, I think."

She goes to the room, code racing through her brain. The bar is the last thing on her mind.

She has a missing person to find. But first, she needs someone.

The tears return when she closes the door. Archibald leaps off to sit on the bed. Eve takes out her phone and fumbles with it for a moment. She stares at her contacts, blinking rapidly in order to see. Who to call? Not Pepper. Not Tony. No, he'd fly straight over here and start another fight with Steve. Nebula and Rocket are off-Earth. Nakia is busy being queen, though she'd understand Eve's situation the most, and Okoye is working double time as general-and-advisor-and-warrior. Who does she really have to talk to, especially about something like this?

Eve clicks a rarely-glanced-at number. Colonel James Rhodes picks up on the first ring.

"This is Rhodes, who's calling?"

"James."

The sound of typing falters. "Eve? What's wrong?"

"He--God, James, he was going to propose."

"I... I know. He told me. I should have--"

She breathes harshly. "You knew."

"I knew."

"Who else?"

"Sam, Tony."

Sam, Tony, James, and now Steve. All of them knew before she knew herself. If they'd won, if Buchannan had lived, she'd be married by now. She might even have a kid, like Steve originally thought she did. An unattractive sound leaves her. Eve ranks it higher than construction work but lower than teeth grinding.

"Rogers knows," she manages to say. "Found him in a store. He, uh. He thought I was pregnant."

"That's rude."

"No, that I had been pregnant. Past tense. He thought I had Buchannan's baby and he still fucked off for three years."

"Bastard," James mumbles. Eve wants to laugh. She usually would. "Do you need to be distracted or do you need to vent?"

She's quiet for a moment.

"I don't know, James."

"Ok. I'm here for you, though, and I won't tell Tony about the Rogers Situation. Tin Can doesn't need another ass-whooping."

"Thanks."

She stares at the laptop. On to work.

Six hours, thirteen minutes, and twelve-seconds pass before Eve has any luck. By then, she's turned away housekeeping twice and has gained access to several countries' databases through slightly illegal means. Let's just say, 'Thank you, Kazakhstan,' and leave it at that.

Natasha answers on the second ring. She sounds half-asleep when she mumbles, "Natasha's cell, what is it?"

"Mr. Barton will be in South Korea in four days. I can intercept him and see about having a chat." Eve scans the screen. She selects a camera in one of the major prisons. "He'll be in a hard-to-get place, though, and he'll have a window of about seven minutes. I need you to talk to the president of South Korea and get me inside."

"What? Um, okay, just--shit, where'd I put the pencil--are there any other requirements?"

"Preferably a wheelbarrow and a trusted sedative."

"Are you going to knock out a practiced spy and take him away from South Korean custody in a wheelbarrow?"

"You have a better idea?" Eve asks sharply, even though she was being sarcastic with the 'wheelbarrow and sedative' thing.

"Yes. You okay? You don't usually snap. And you had a flight to Dubai to catch, didn't you?"

"I did. It's not important."

Natasha seems to understand that Eve doesn't want to broach that subject and respectfully backs up. "Ok. I'll have the details and everything else ironed out. You got a ticket for Korea?"

"Yeah." Eve starts packing up. "I'll have Barton back to you soon."

The call ends. Eve braces her hands on the sink and stares in the mirror. She doesn't look at her hands. All she'd be able to see is the gap where a ring should be--was going to be, damn it--and the unsteady wall would topple over like a one-legged giraffe.

If she can't get Buchannan back, she'll get Mr. Barton back to Natasha.

Eve shuts her eyes.

She'll get him back.


	41. |CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE|

Clint Barton knows a thing or two about evading security. Top-notch systems and guards are rendered useless when he has his mind set on something. Growing up in a travelling circus teaches one many valuable skills—he listed them all at one point, in a letter written to the parents he’ll never see again. SHIELD was big on therapy. But SHIELD is gone, just like half the world.

Just like his world.

That anger isn’t malleable. Once that type of anger sets its sights on you, you’re a goner. There’s no escaping it until you find something, anything, that has a stronger grip. For some, its drugs. For Ronin, its death.

It’s not like he’s killing good people. Crime rates skyrocketed after the Blip; no one else seems to be correcting it. Why not hunt down monsters when you yourself have become one?

Why not enjoy it while you’re at it?

Clint Barton feels countries away—he’s an orphan, a husband, a father. Agent Barton was a straight-faced spy. Hawkeye, an Avenger and a friend, and at one point a circus act. Ronin is something new.

Laura would hate Ronin. She’s not around to hate him, though, and Ronin is shaped perfectly for the task at hand.

Prisoners stare at him as he slips past them. A devil among devils. He fits right in, doesn't he?

The kids would be terrified of Ronin. They’d tell their dad, ‘Ronin is the sort of guy you stop.’ They aren’t around to be scared of him. No one is.

The person at the end of the hall, in the supervisor’s office, is not a devil. They aren’t an angel, either. And they aren’t who he came for.

“Hi,” Eve Robertson says pleasantly. She holds her hands up. No weapons. As if she’d be dumb enough to try to hurt him—well, she’s dumb enough to confront him, so why wouldn’t she try? “Natasha’s worried about you. I’m here to convince you to go to her. You don’t even have to say a word to me, I’m just a messenger. She’s scared and alone and misses you, though. She’d help you. All you have to do is come with me. Or find her yourself, either works. Oh, and don't worry about the security cameras. They're disabled. Probably not the smartest move on my part, but it's done, now."

Time is running out. The window was narrow to begin with. Now that this is foiled, Ronin has few choices.

He makes the quickest one.

Clint grabs her hair and twists; her back is against his chest, her hands grasping at his arm, but it’s too late. He cuts her neck, unflinching and without regret. Her carotid artery erupts. Eve gurgles, going slack in his grip. Clint drops her to the ground. He finds her phone easily enough. It takes all of three seconds to notify the prison’s medical ward of Eve’s condition—if they don’t get here within five minutes, she’ll bleed out—and he dives into the ventilation.

Eve Robertson is frail. In no way is she weak. If anyone is lucky enough to pull through, it’ll be her. And if she doesn’t, well, that’s one less person in pain. Right? It’s a win-win, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

~*~

That's life (that's life) that's what people say  
You're riding high in April  
Shot down in May

“Buchannan! Buchannan, come here! I wanna dance with you.”

Amsterdam. Curtains drawn. A feeling settled deep, a bird’s nest in an oak, that rustles in a breeze. Affection. Unspoken, deep-buried affection.

But I know I'm gonna change that tune  
When I'm back on top, back on top in June

“Dance with me? To this?”

There’s no form of negativity. Just a rare, wide smile. It’s unrestrained. Free. It’s Buchannan.

I said, that's life (that's life) and as funny as it may seem  
Some people get their kicks  
Stompin' on a dream

“Don’t hate on Frank. C’mere.”

Empty space, empty room. No, that’s not right. It’s not empty. There’s furniture. The laptop is open. Frank sings. They sway together, branches in wind.

But I don't let it, let it get me down  
'Cause this fine old world it keeps spinnin' around

“You dance swell, you know that?”

Steadfast. Calming. A laugh like autumnal leaves.

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate  
A poet, a pawn and a king  
I've been up and down and over and out  
And I know one thing

“Flatterer.”

Dancing across the full—not empty, there’s music—room.

Each time I find myself flat on my face  
I pick myself up and get back in the race

“I’m serious, love. You cut a mean rug.”

Fondness whispers across their skin. Soft-spoken love, breathed out into the space between them.

That's life (that's life) I tell ya, I can't deny it  
I thought of quitting, baby  
But my heart just ain't gonna buy it

“I what?”

A twist. Blue eyes—his eyes—are brighter than a winter sky.

And if I didn't think it was worth one single try  
I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly

“Dance well. It means you dance well.”

She basks in the compliment. It tastes like summer on her tongue. But summer sours into a different taste, one that stains and clings.

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate  
A poet, a pawn and a king  
I've been up and down and over and out  
And I know one thing

“It helps when you have a good partner.”

More. More, please mean more.

Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face  
I just pick myself up and get back in the race

“Ha! That it does.”

Spring curls around their clasped fingers. It’s warm, chasing away a rooted cold. It holds a promise. A plea. A fact.

That's life (that's life) that's life

“I love you, Buchannan.”

Wait.

And I can't deny it

“I love you too, Eve.”

Everything flickers. Flickers in, out. Warps like static on a television. The TV isn’t on. Is it on? No, it’s not on.

“…with me, okay? Help’s on the way.”

The noise is the same. A crackle or a hiss, torn between artificial and catlike, unsettling in every manner. It’s not the catchy tune of Frank Sinatra’s music—that’s there, ringing distantly in Eve’s ears. It’s not the reverent tone Buchannan spoke with.

“Juh…”

Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it

Hands. There are hands on her. She isn’t dancing. She’s—where is she? An empty room. She’s in… she’s…

“That’s right, keep talking to me.”

But if there's nothing shakin' come here this July

It hurts. The bitter taste spreads.

“Juh—Jay—”

I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die

Jay. Buchannan. Oh, please, it hurts—hurts so bad, Jay—

“Jay? Does your name start with ‘j’? No, stay—"

‘m coming, Jay…

My, my!

~*~

The world is watercolor. Liquid, bright. It's as fluid as Time. The campfire burns and crackles. Adam grins toothily at the grey water floating up, reverse rain. Mom and Dad point at the grass. It ripples like green water. The smores are melting into the fire. Everyone laughs. The reverse rain rises.

There’s a flow. It starts in the back of her throat and rolls forward. It falls off her tongue. It’s a wave, a swell and ebb of a static tide. Unseen. There. Again, again, again.

Buchannan. He’s right there, like a moving polaroid. The edges are faded and foxed. The image grainy in its shades of black-grey-white. Like an old-timey film, it’s without sound. Noiseless. It skips and flutters and Eve is a spectator, motionless in a sea of not-color.

Is it not a color? She can imagine his eyes—blue—and his hair—brown. She can see the paleness of his skin and the absurd brightness pf his socks, all swept in a sea of 1940s dream.

No noise. No color. No movement, aside from the motion-film of James Buchannan Barnes.

He’s right there. So close. Eve wants to touch him. She could reach out and feel the smoothness of his cheek. He’s shaved, in this dream. Is it a dream? It has to be, doesn’t it? But if it is a dream… if it is a dream, why is it silent? And—and she’s frozen. It hurts, this cold-locked fantasy. It aches. Burns. Buchannan keeps moving. Eve doesn’t leave. She grasps this—whatever it may be—and she holds on tight.

He looks happy. His smile could turn a blizzard into a rainstorm. His hair is shorter, too. There are pictures of his hair like this in a museum, Eve thinks, and of him in this uniform, too. He looks straight at Eve with his 40’s delight. He beckons, hands less calloused and both are not made of metal.

Unease. The dull pain brightens.

His mouth moves, now. Eve has never been good at reading lips. She can’t move. She wants to. She wants to speak to him and hold him close.

‘I’m here, Buchannan,’ she wants to say, ‘you aren’t waiting for me anymore. I’m here.’

His face blurs. When it comes back, clear once more, his expression has changed. He looks sad. Angry. Scared. Are those the right words? His lips move. Slowly, at first, with a strange look seared across his face. Then his mouth twists, opens, screams wordlessly at her.

She burns, burns, burns.

His image shimmers, gossamer tearing, and Eve understands what he’s saying. Three words.

'Wake up, Lebed’.'

~*~

Tony Stark got the call at seven forty-three, seventeen seconds. He finished the call at seven fifty-one, twenty-six seconds. He made it to a hospital in South Korea in sixteen hours, seven minutes, and forty-two seconds. It took a week, four hours, five minutes, and fifty-eight seconds for Eve to be cleared for visitors.

It took that long for her condition to be stable. Even then, she wasn’t conscious. No, Miss Robertson would come into a state of semi-awareness for small intervals. Tony dreaded those the most, more than the long periods of unmoving sleep and the nerve-wracking beep of all the machines she’s hooked up to. It was when she was in that semi-consciousness that she hurt the most. She’d move and make horrible, pained noises. Some sounded like words. Others, something Tony imagines he’d hear in Hell’s lower circles.

If Dante is right, that is. If he’s not, well—it’s still a nightmarish memory for Tony and he’s had plenty.

On the ninth day, sometime after noon, she wakes up. The nurses usher Tony out. He lurks by the door, anyways, and holds himself back. He can’t interfere with her medical care. Even if Dr. Rhee was his second choice.

He could have done better stitches. He saw the photos. Whoever stabbed her was precise. They knew their anatomy. Sliced right through the carotid artery. If she hadn't been in a prison ward minutes from the med wing, she'd be dead.

The tenth day is when he manages to talk with her. It’s a loose term. ‘Talk’. He talks. She alternates between unfocused, open-mouthed staring and bleary blinking. She might chime in with a ‘Uhm,’ or a ‘Ngk,’ or some other noncommittal noise.

It’s hard not to stare when she stays awake longer, talking in a slow, drugged voice. He can’t not stare. She’s… pretty banged up. Tony has no idea how she got in this situation. Speaking of, why is she in South Korea when she was supposed to be in Dubai?

Eve can’t answer his questions. Tony settles for the local authorities. He isn’t fluent in Korean, though, so he hires a translator that tends to forget he’s supposed to be translating. It takes some convincing, but Tony finally gets to listen to the 911 call that saved Eve’s life.

He wishes he hadn’t listened.

After the dispatcher picks up, Clint Barton speaks gruffly into the receiver.

~*~

The sky stretches on forever. There’s no end, no beginning. It’s infinite. There’s only an expanse of black and silver as far as the eye can see. Further, even. And it’s a lovely night. Millions of stars—silver against black, an off-white against non-color—splatter like spilled paint. The moon hangs through them, a dew claw of some great and brilliant beast.

In a blink, it amplifies, tossing the view into motion.

Planets whirl about, throwing color into the deepest reaches of space. Comets shriek past with their blue-yellow tails. Meteors, asteroids, deep-sky carnage—their browns and tans meander through constellations. Stars no longer twinkle, white fairies high above. They are light and force. Black holes drink in whatever strays too close. In the midst of all these wonders, they are ravenous dogs, slobbering for a taste of something that will never fill them.

A distortion. The dog swallows.

It’s a shock, going from all that brightness to this iris-stealing blackness. Pupils are meaningless. They always have been. Here, they seem like a figment of an old Creator’s active imagination. This is nothingness. This is everything.

There never was anything else.

The fabric of the wormhole tears in a crescendo of sound and unwavering white. The dog howls, slinking in its retreat to space’s furthermost recesses. Pupils, formerly rounded to the point of drowning the iris, shrink down to slivers of pain. The howl continues. It draws out every sense. Touch, taste, sight, smell, hearing. They explode to life. It feels like death.

Oh, but when her eyes open, it’s glorious. Just for a moment, she’s in paradise. The next, she realizes that this is not. This is not heaven. It’s hell. Hades. Purgatory. Naraka. The names of different culture’s afterlives filter through a haze of pain.

“…low my finger?”

A blur darts back and forth. She flinches back, desperate to shrink back into that planetary oblivion. Astronomical bliss and steady, unabashed nothing.

“—dilated, she’s back for good this time, I think.”

~*~

Eve swirls and sings. Well, her head swirls. She’s stationary, bound to the too-hard hospital bed, but she does sing a wobbly tune. Her voice is hoarse. She times the lyrics wrong. She sings. Her head swirls.

“I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king…”

She hasn’t thought about this song in ages. It’s been stuck in her head since she woke up and actually stayed lucid. But she isn’t disappointed. It’s a good song. Frank Sinatra, with his happy tune and unhappy lyrics. Genius. Contradictory. It’s beautifully human, isn’t it?

She’s been a puppet, pauper, poet (It was a sad time in sixth grade), and a pawn. She’s never been a pirate or a king, though. Pirate King Eve Robertson.

God, she needs more morphine.

Tony opens the door. She smiles, ragged at the edges. He doesn’t return it. He sits, head and hopes down, and Tony asks a single question.

“Why did Clint Barton hurt you?”

If Eve had extra blood to spare, she might have paled.

The truth. She has to tell the truth. She’s lied enough, pretended enough.

“I wanted to help Natasha.”

“You wanted to help Natasha.”

He’s repeating himself. Never a good sign.

Tony looks at Eve, hard-faced. “I know you’re the type of person to throw caution to the wind if it means you’ll feel less like a liability, but you aren’t stupid. Something would have spurred you on to chase Barton. Natasha isn’t it.”

James stuck to his promise, then. That’s good. But Eve can’t lie, not to Tony, not to anyone anymore.

The words are heavy on her tongue. They drip down the back of her throat.

“Well? You going to answer, Eve? Because I want to know why I almost lost my sister.”

“He was going to marry me.”

Saying that to Tony out loud feels freeing. Maybe it’s the painkillers. They’re great, painkillers. Eve wonders how hard it would be to get some when she’s discharged. It can't be but too hard. Is Archibald a good alibi? He is, in Eve’s opinion. Might not stand up in court.

Eve realizes she’s said all of that out loud. Her immediately response is to pretend she didn’t.

Deflection works for Tony. It doesn’t work for Eve.

“Don’t become a druggie because Barnes had a ring,” Tony says. The words are blunt. His tone is gentle, just as gentle as his hand in hers. Buchannan was that gentle, too. “Hey. Eve, look. In a few days I have to go back to Pepper and Morgan. Until you’re clear for air travel, I’ve got Rhodes coming up."

"That's—”

"Don’t worry about expenses, I’ve got that covered, and listen to me. I’m not good with heartfelt speeches, which you know full well, but you’re the annoying little sister I never wanted, and if something happened to you, I’d tip. Everyone’s barely hanging on as it is. Losing you would make Pepper and Morgan lose me. Or a big piece, at least. Got it?”

No lies, she thinks. Not anymore. Not again.

"Got it. But, uh, can you call someone for me? They have my cat.”

"Cat?"

"Archie. Archibald, actually, an' he's a handsome boy."

Tony sighs. "Yep, fine. I'll handle that. You rest up, you hear me?"

"Can't do much else," she mutters, touching the gauze around her neck.

She never can do much at all.

~*~

There's a saying. 'Tempus Fugit.' You've probably seen this stenciled onto grandfather clocks or printed in nice, swirling gold letters on a watch. Do you know what it means?

Time flies.

It's a true statement, that. Time does fly. Its wings are heavy, purified gold. It has a face, a body. It's nondescript. But when it passes you—and trust me, it will—you’ll be left wondering how it slipped you by. Where did the Time go? That's when nostalgia sets in like wet cement. Give it more Time. Soon you'll be hardened and grey, too.

Eve Cygnus Robertson stares in the mirror. She barely recognizes the person staring back at her. Small, squinting eyes shadowed by dark circles. Too-small mouth. Chapped lips. A gaunt face with a large, flat nose stuck in the middle like a strange version of 'Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey'. To her distaste, she's found her first grey hairs edging at her temples. The gash on her neck is swollen; the stitches are covered by Steristrips, curse the damn things.

"Hey, Eve? You good? You've been in the bathroom for a while."

James. Eve braces against the sink. The reflection scowls.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm good."

"You sure?" He's by the door. Eve can easily picture his face, worn thin around the edges. "It's okay if you're not."

"I know." Go away, please, James.

"Alright. I ordered takeout. Korea's got good takeout."

"I'll be out in a moment."

A pause. His footsteps creak down the hall. Eve relaxes.

The tranquilizer Natasha procured for her rests in her palm. It’s heavy enough to knock out a grown man for hours. She’s half the intended target’s weight and size. It could, if she wasn’t careful, kill her.

She puts it in her pocket for a rainy day. For now, she has takeout to eat with a friend.

At first, dinner is quiet. Archibald settles on Eve’s lap. They eat their food and ignore the situation for maybe an hour. James has never been good at avoiding, however. He’s a very forward man. Eve can visibly see his resolution fray and tear. She sighs. Archie purrs louder.

“Ask, James. I know you want to.”

“Why’d you try to confront an assassin without backup or any sort of self-defense available?” He points his chopsticks at her. “You’re technically a genius and you’re definitely not an idiot. So, what happened? And I’m not talking about Barnes or Rogers or Natasha. I’m talking about the missing security feed.”

“Clint must’ve wanted to cover his tracks.”

“Eve.”

She rubs behind Archie’s ears. He offers no comfort, other than a loud ‘murrph’ noise. “What do you want me to say? I got into a prison—legally, might I add—to try and persuade an Avenger to go back home and stop the killing spree. Legally. No one else got hurt. The assassination attempt was foiled and the man who was supposed to die is imprisoned for multiple crimes against his country. What more is there?”

“This is all I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

James massages his head. He mumbles something about putting on a Korean soap opera and sidles off to the couch. Archie follows like the furry traitor he is. Goose would approve, even though she wasn't a real feline. What had Sharon called her? Something with an 'f', though. Flurry? Flerken? The second seems right. Flerken. That's what Goose is. Was.

Eve touches the Steristrips with her fingertips. It hurts at the slightest increase of pressure.

But, well—

That’s life.


	42. |CHAPTER THIRTY|

Being sucked into an unstable realm is usual for Scott. Being stuck in it for five years is less so. Coming out to learn that half of the population is dead and that the Avengers have more or less disbanded was more of a shock than any of that. He was lucky to find Cassie alive. Hope, Hank, and Jane were less fortunate. And what happened to Ava Starr?

He went to the only people he could think of. The Avengers. Well, their compound in Upstate New York, at least. One thing led to another and now Scott, Natasha, and Steve are in a car driving for Tony Stark's lake house.

It's horribly quiet. Scott clears his throat. "So, uh, Cap. I have a friend and I didn't find her name on those ginormous gravestones, but you know her, and if Stark won't help she will. Eve Robertson, is she alive? Or, er, not snapped out of existence by a large, sentient purple ball sack?"

"Yeah. She's alive."

Natasha looks at Scott through the rear view window. "Steve won't tell me why, but he doesn't want to go to her for help. She's alive, just don't stare at the scar. It upsets her enough as it is."

"Scar?" Panic leaps into his throat. "Is she okay?"

"I asked her for help finding a friend. No one knows what happened with that, either, or at least not for the most part. My friend slit her throat."

"Your friend did what?"

"Yeah. But we're cool."

"Oh, thank God you two are 'cool.'"

Steve sighs heavily. "Look, Scott, Eve's been through the wringer. It's best to leave her be."

"She knows more about quantum physics than Bruce Banner, I can guarantee that. If Stark won't help, Eve is the best bet."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

And Scott, for all is happy-go-lucky sarcasm and charm, is not an idiot. He frowns at the driver seat. Whatever happened between Cap and Eve must've been a doozy. He wonders if he'd pick his idol over his friend.

~*~

The lake house is beautiful year-round. Despite the water being below 50 degrees Fahrenheit, Eve has her feet in the water as she sits on the edge of the dock. Her leg never healed right from the day of the Blip—time reversing, and her own mindlessness of the healing process are the main factors—and it aches. It’s worth it, though. She swings her legs.

There are footsteps on the wood behind her. She smiles.

“I’ll be over in a moment, Tony. You sure Pepper’s done? I don’t want to get kicked out again.”

“Booted out again, Eve?”

She nearly falls into the lake. A pair of hands holds her steady, lifting her onto her feet and turning Eve around. She gapes openly at Scott Lang. She’s shaking. There’s a horrible thing inside her. She feels his skin, his warmth, and he’s right there—dare she hope? Is he truly here? And if he is…

If he is, is the rest of the world back?

“Hey, Eve,” he says, smiling so wide it looks painful. He taps her cheek with his knuckle. “Is it just me, or did you shrink?”

Eve grabs his shoulders. Yeah, he’s here. He’s real.

“You were Blipped,” she whispers.

“Long story, actually—”

“Are the rest here? Are they back too? Scott, are you hurt?”

He steadies her again. The smile has faded away. “Eve, I wasn’t—whatever you just called it. I was in the Quantum Realm.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Scott, you can’t stay in the Quantum Realm for long periods of time without long-lasting physiological and mental effects. Are you phasing in and out of reality? Experiencing phantom pains? Are you hearing voices or seeing rips in the fabric of this reality? Shit, when’d you last eat—”

“I’m fine, Eve, I ate and pissed, and I don’t have any problems yet.”

“What about sleep? I can—”

“Slow down,” he says firmly. She takes a breath to continue; he cuts her off. “Eve, I need your help to do a time heist.”

Her mouth thins. She’s already entertained that idea—creating a way to hop through different periods of time and reverse the Blip. Or she could have reset events in ways that would be beneficial. Killing Thanos as an infant, freeing Buchannan from HYDRA before they can take him, convincing Rogers to jump out of the plane before crashing… the list goes on and on. As do the setbacks and repercussions.

“I already thought of that. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? What do you mean, ‘why not?’ Scott, it would permanently change the reality we live in. Hell, it’d screw with the countless other multiverses that undoubtedly exist! And it’s such an unstable thing, you know that the metaphysical and physical instabilities would completely wreck the time traveler. You know that more than anyone.”

“Did… did you try?”

She runs a hand over her face. “I just listed a few of the problems with a time heist and you’re asking me if I tried it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“No, Scott, I didn’t.”

“Then how do you know there aren’t ways to stabilize a time travel device?”

“I mean, there are, but—”

She sees them waiting at the opposite end of the dock.

Scott rubs the back of his neck nervously. “They, uh, said you wouldn’t be thrilled to see them.”

“No shit.” She walks past Scott to them. “You sent him over to talk to me because you knew I’d otherwise decline the offer.”

“It’s good to see you,” Natasha says.

“That makes one of us. Well, I’m happy to see you and Scott, Natasha, I really am. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you with your time heist.”

“We could bring them back.”

She fixes Steve with a cold look. “Tony said no.” He nods. He looks tense. Good. “I’m your second pick.”

“Eve, look, I know you don’t like me—”

“Understatement of the fucking century, Mr. Rogers.”

“—but we could bring Bucky back. We could bring all of them back. This is bigger than a disagreement.”

There are so many things wrong with what he just said. ‘We could bring them all back’. Sure, they could. Or they could stop the tragedies before they happen. It would mess everything up either way. ‘This is a bigger than a disagreement.’ That, though. That makes her blood boil.

Disagreement.

She hates that word.

“I made myself plain the last time we talked, Mr. Rogers. Remember?” A muscle in his jaw jumps. She nods curtly and plasters a smile on her face. “Have a nice day. Oh, and Scott? Get yourself checked by a psychologist and a trusted physician. Sanity is fragile where minds are strong.”

“You’re really going to walk away?”

Eve looks at Steve, unflinching. “I keep my promises.”

He outright flinches at the double-meaning. Scott looks lost. Natasha has the blank expression of somehow filing away information for future use. They have no idea, then. Eve wonders how he’ll explain, if he does at all, as she goes to eat with the Potts-Stark family.

That night, Eve sits in the guest room with a thick book in her lap. She knows she won’t be able to sleep much tonight, since Rogers showed up. Since time travel was thrown around. There are too many problems with time travel for it to be a possibility. Even entertaining the idea is, or could be, universally catastrophic. They have no idea what they’re getting in to. And they’ll go through with it, the lot of them, because they’re all grieving and stubborn and desperate.

There’s a knock. Tony flops onto the bed, jostling Eve’s book.

“What’d you tell the patriots?”

“You know as well as I do the risks. They outweigh the benefits and their consequences would be even more detrimental. The EPR Paradox is just one problem.”

“But you haven’t accepted anything. You’re still holding on to that syringe you think I don’t know about.”

Eve closes the book. “You haven’t said anything.”

“Because I know you. You won’t use it. It’s more Option Z than anything else. I told them I wouldn’t help, too.”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

“It’s possible. I figured it out. Pep’s given me the green light.” Tony looks up at Eve. “I’m terrified. She said it was okay, you know something’s up.”

“Tony,” Eve says, grabbing her friend’s hand. “She knows you better than I do. If she’s encouraging you, then I trust her judgment. Just… please.”

He nods, understanding completely. “I know. No promises, Sugar, but I’ll try. Though I could use another genius who knows what she’s doing. Or moral support, whichever comes first.”

Eve shakes her head. “You’ll be with moral support and people who can help. I’ll stay with Pepper and Morgan. If things start going south, Pepper will go to you. I’ll stay with the queen.”

“She cursed today.”

“She what?”

He chuckles. “She heard me say ‘shit’. Hopefully Morgan won’t repeat it at the table, Pepper would rip her a new one.”

“Yeah, she is pretty scary.”

“Time travel is scarier.”

“Yeah, well. You’re Tony Stark. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

Tony smiles. “You know, you’ve got more faith than you give yourself credit for. You had lots of faith in Mr. Iceman the Second. I know Barnes and I weren’t exactly butt buddies, but he wasn’t all bad. I get that. And I think he would have made a decent Robertson.”

Eve raises her eyebrows. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t be the best damn Barnes Earth has ever seen?”

“Oh, that too. Definitely that, too. Now sleep, I’m leaving in, like, five hours.”

Eve swats his shoulder. “I’ll try. Go, young Padawan. Be free.”

He stops by the door. He smiles, and Eve is struck by how far he’s come.

“Night, Sugar. See you when the world’s like it was five years ago.”

~*~

One day later, Steve Rogers is standing on the battlefield. He’s alone. His shield is broken. The army he’s facing is enough to drive the Earth into hell three times over. He’s willing to fight until his last breath. He’s not Captain America in this moment. He’s not a perfect soldier, not even a perfect man. But he is a good man, he’s a little punk from Brooklyn that’s too dumb to back away from a fight, and he’s kept Bucky waiting too long.

Who knows? Maybe he'll see Peggy again. He could see his Ma, too.

“Hey, Cap, do you read me?”

He stops in his tracks. The voice on the intercom is his friend’s. A good man who’s been gone for five years is on the intercom.

“Cap, it’s Sam. Do you hear me?”

He does. And if he can hear Sam Wilson—

“On your left.”


	43. |CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE|

Atoms split and reform. Within seconds, ash becomes blood and dust becomes bone. Consciousness, or whatever had been taken during the moment of blackness, returns with a click of a finger. A snap, and there's motion.

Air whooshes from Bucky's lungs as he smacks face-first into the ground. The assault rifle goes off as he lands, firing into the soil. He groans and rolls onto his back. Above, the moon and stars litter the sky. It's beautiful. Bucky's mind is hazy, like he's just woken up, and he wonders vaguely how it went from midday to night.

"Steve?"

His voice rings out. Grunting, he sits up. The clearing is empty. There are signs of new growth in the plant life. A sapling reaches high, grass where grass wasn't before. He frowns. Something is wrong.

He tries again, louder this time. "Steve?"

"Barnes?"

He looks over at the Maximoff girl. She looks like hell. She’s been crying, and the aftermath isn’t movie perfect. Snot runs down her nose. Her face is blotchy. Red energy fizzes through her hair, sending strands flying.

"Where is everyone?" he asks, puzzled. He shoots to his feet. "Where's Eve?"

"Where's everyone?" she corrects. The lost look on her face transforms into rage. “We lost.”

"Lost? The hell do you mean?"

“Thanos won.”

Bucky stares, uncomprehending.

Thanos… won? He won?

Wakanda fills with the sounds of the ‘fallen’. Cries, screams, footsteps. Each noise feels thunderous.

Thanos won.

Oh, God—

“Eve?" he yells.

His voice echoes. Someone calls back, but it's not Eve. It's Sam. He's as confused and uncertain as everyone else. Bucky bypasses him completely, booking it for the open fields. He hollers his love’s name, looks around desperately. When he runs out of breath, he whispers prayers for her safety.

Please, God, please let her be okay—let her be alive—

Shuri is in her laboratory, looking wildly at her equipment. Ramonda, T’Challa, Nakia, and Okoye stand around her. They’re in a hurry. Bucky grabs Shuri’s shoulders, whirling her around to face him.

“Where’s Eve?” he demands.

“Barnes!”

T’Challa yanks his arm. Bucky hears himself snarling something at the king—his king, technically, and his brother through law—and the Wakandan takes it with a set jaw.

“Are you finished?” he demands. “Okoye is gathering troops. We are leaving immediately to fight. Now, brother, are you going to attack me when our friends need us? Will you put aside Eve’s well being for her future’s sake?”

“She’s alive?” The king nods curtly. The relief he feels knocks the air out of him. “She’s alive. Eve’s okay.”

King T’Challa’s face is grim. “For now. Let us ensure it stays that way.”

“Stays—wait, troops?” Sam Wilson has trotted up behind them. He looks between them, obviously shell-shocked. “What the hell’s happening?”

“It’s been five years,” T’Challa says curtly. “Five years since we lost. Now, we will fight again, and we will win.”

Five years.

Bucky’s head spins.

Eve… has she moved on? Does she have someone else? Is—

No. Focus, Barnes, he snaps at himself. Focus.

He runs back to the woods to retrieve his gun. Every capable Wakandan amasses in the open fields, armed to the teeth and hellbent on revenge. There is no time for reunions, for hellos and goodbyes. There is a war that needs to be fought, and her red steed is impatient to be let loose. It froths at the mouth, pounds its hooves into the soil.

Portals open. Sparks fly off their rims. Bucky steps off Wakandan soil and into the carnage of… somewhere. Steve is alone, Thanos and his ranks spread out behind him.

Death is heavy in the air. Bucky scans the area. There are no corpses yet. There will be. In a matter of minutes, the crows will have a feast prepared for them.

The war cry rings out. This ragtag group of peoples, of beings from space and from earth, shout it. Bucky breathes in.

Thor’s hammer flies to Steve’s hand.

Breathe out.

“Avengers!”

Breathe in—

“Assemble.”

War laughs as her fire-and-smoke horse is released.

It’s carnage from the start. Bucky doesn’t keep track of time. Everything he does is forgotten a moment later; his only purpose right now is to kill as many things as possible and stay alive while doing it. And that’s what he does. He kills, he fights, and he watches his comrades back.

He still doesn’t see Eve.

The glowing space lady proved an invaluable help, he knows that much. He knows that sheltering the Spider-Boy bruised his ribs. He knows he might not have gotten hurt at all if a name wasn’t hanging on to the back of his every thought.

His gun ran out of ammunition a while back ago, so Bucky’s been using knives and muscle. He’s been dealt many a hefty blow; his head is ringing from one of the more heavy-handed ones. He touches his ear. His fingers come away red.

Something throws him down; his knives go flying. One of the multiple-armed things has him pinned. He struggles to keep it from tearing his throat out. Its extra arms dig into his sides, tearing at the armor. Claws dig into his skin. A shout spills from his mouth. The beast inhales it, and Bucky gags at its breath, fights desperately against—

Everything seems to take a breath.

The beast drifts away in a grey cloud. Bucky stares open-mouthed at where it was. He turns his head to the side. The other enemies are fading away like that, too. Some seem to catch on a breeze and swirl high in the air. Others crumple unceremoniously into heaps. All of this takes a matter of seconds.

He sees Colonel Rhodes standing near a group of people. He grits his teeth and makes his way towards them. When he gets near enough, his heart stutters.

Tony Stark is dead. The Infinity Stones are lodged into the gauntlet of his armor. His wife sobs into his chest. The Spider-Boy is holding on to Colonel Rhodes to stay upright. The Avengers are scattered around, looking on, and—

And Eve is there, too. He knows its her. She’s on her knees, head in her hands. Bucky can tell she’s crying by the shaking shoulders.

Go to her, his brain whispers.

The Avengers drop to one knee, a wave of heroes recognizing the sacrifice of their greatest member. Bucky follows their lead. He bows his head.

And the world exhales.

The Avengers begin to stand. Eve is still in place. Rhodes is beside her, saying something to her, and whatever she tells him sends the colonel to Spider-Boy, who’s in a similar position.

Bucky walks to her. His heart pounds.

Five years. Five years, he’s been gone. She said she’d try to move on. Did she move on?

He kneels beside her and pulls her into his arms. She’s stiff in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Lebed’,” he whispers into her hair. When did his voice get so hoarse? “I’ve got you. I love you; I love you so much, Eve—”

Her body sags against him. Her tears are warm on his forearm.

Steve begins to take the Iron Man armor off. Bucky angles them so she can’t watch. It would make this harder for her. He murmurs random things to her—facts she’s told him, snippets of rambling he’s committed to memory, meaningless words. Anything to help. Anything to be there.

Five years, he left her. Five years—

She stirs. The sun has set and it’s cold, out in the open rubble. Eve looks at him blankly. He thumbs away her tears. His hand shakes.

“We need to go inside,” he says quietly. She stares behind him, where her friend took his last breath. “Can you walk?”

Eve gets to her feet. Bucky is thankful for the serum speeding his healing process. Eve braces against him as they walk. He has half a mind to carry her, but he doesn’t want to trip, and his body feels heavy as lead.

One of the magic-portal-people conjures up a shortcut to a lakeside cabin. Eve staggers up the stairs; it’s clear she knows this place. Bucky doesn’t have to guess who owns it. Pictures of the Stark family are hung all around. He’s hesitant to be here. He and Stark weren’t close. Hell, he killed the man’s parents. But Eve is here, and he isn’t leaving her. He won’t.

She collapses onto a bed and curls up on her side. Bucky hesitantly lays beside her.

Five years.

“Eve?” he says quietly. The only reason he knows she heard him is the skip of her pulse; he feels it thrumming under his fingers. Eve moves her wrist from his grasp. “Did… did you do it?”

Did you move on?

She muffles a sob into the covers. Bucky’s chest hurts. Is that normal? Why does he feel like he’s going to be sick?

“I tried,” she croaks. Another cry wracks her body. “I couldn’t, I tried, I’m so sorry—”

He holds her a bit tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, “it’s okay, Lebed’… try to sleep. I’m right here, I won’t go away. I promise. It’s okay.”

Slowly, Eve’s breathing smooths. Only when she’s asleep does Bucky allow himself to cry. He does it quietly, forcing shuddering breaths in and out his nose. When he fears Eve might wake up, he caresses her hip. The gore on his clothes starts to smell halfway through the night. Sometime before dawn, he passes out.

His dreams whirl around in a storm of dust.


	44. |CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO|

This is a good dream.

The thought glides through the haze. Eve sighs, shifting backwards into the solid warmth of Buchannan. His nose is pressed against the back of her head. With every breath, he tickles her neck. She can feel the rigid pieces of his gear, can smell gore and taste dust in her mouth, but Eve focuses on the better aspects of this dream.

His arm is slung over her side. His fingers twitch in his sleep. Eve closes her eyes. She basks in this. She can feel dawn seeping through the blinds. They’re on top of the covers. She imagines the background for this dream.

Maybe it’s taking place five years ago, in an alternate timeline where they won. Maybe this is when they were on the run, or when they were living and recovering in Wakanda.

She smiles.

Buchannan presses a kiss against her head. Eve rolls over, opening her eyes to commit this dream to memory. She takes in the stubble of his face, the shadows under his eyes, the half-awake frown. She doesn’t question why Dream Buchannan is bloody, nor why he smells like week-old gore. She caresses his jaw.

“Good morning,” she says, gently kissing his mouth. He mutters the sentiment back. Eve kisses him again, deeply, threading her fingers in his knotted hair. She doesn’t flinch at the morning breath; she knows she has the same issue. But then Buchannan pulls back.

“Eve?”

She sighs, relaxing into the bed. “Wish I dreamed this stuff more,” she comments.

“Eve, love.” Apparently, Dream Bucky is also a worrier. He never sounded this concerned in real life. Well, he did, but not very often. “Lebed’, this isn’t a dream.”

Eve goes very still.

Happy. The portals. The battle. Tony—shit, shit, shitshitshitshit—

“Oh.”

Her response is numb. It sounds blank. It’s a bullet shell, empty of meaning and echoing with recent discharge. The past locked in the present. The yesterday in the now?

Eve closes her eyes.

This isn’t a dream. Is it a nightmare, though?

Best just to call this reality, she decides.

Buchannan fidgets nervously with one of her curls. His hand stills, then sweeps to her neck. Eve clenches her jaw.

“What happened?” His voice is low, a tight mixture of concern and anger. His touch remains light as can be.

“Two years ago,” is all she manages to get out before shrugging and sitting up.

He follows her movement, catching her wrist before she can leave. Eve avoids looking at him.

One snap, her mind singsongs, and he’s gone again. You’ve barely healed over five years, you know. You think you can do that again? Tony’s not here to help anymore. And how do you think you’ll explain the past five years? His best friend, his ally, your letters…

Buchannan touches her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“Huh?” Oh. Eve blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the tears gathered in her eyes. “’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Don’t even try that bullshit. Please, Lebed’, talk to me,” he pleads. He holds her face in his hands; he looks on the verge of crying, himself.

There’s a knock on the door. In an instant, Buchannan has cursed under his breath and stalked over to the door. He cracks it. Before he can demand to know what, it is the intruder wants, Rhodes’ voice has interrupted.

“I found a message from—from Tony. Eve should see it. Is she… is she okay?”

Eve peers over Buchannan’s arm. She smiles weakly. James’s face is tear-stained. “Hey,” she says, ducking to hug the colonel. She misses the surprised look on her boyfriend’s face.

He furrows his brow as if to ask, ‘When did this happen?’ Rhodes only shakes his head. That’s a question for someone else, another time.

“Get a shower, Eve,” James urges. “Put something nice on, too.”

“The funeral is today?”

“He didn’t want one. He, uh, said he wanted a memorial. You know, a small thing. Family and friends only.”

“I have something. I’ll be down in fifteen.”

Eve shuts the door. She’s exhausted; she swears halfheartedly and goes to the dresser. As she unloads, Bucky puts his hands in his pockets—

His fingers meet velvet. An old promise surfaces.

“The moment this is over, I’m buying the best damn ring in Wakanda, and I’m proposing in the traditional manner.”

Buchannan feels like his legs are jelly. All he needs to do is kneel, bring out the ring, and ask the question. Three things. She hasn’t moved on, so she’ll say yes.

She’ll say yes, right? Shit, Stark just died, I can’t ask her that right after—and there’s years of shit to unpack, this—bad timing, asshole—

“Buchannan? Hey, love, look at me.” Eve tucks his hair behind his ear. She looks nervous. “I know a lot has happened for me. I’ve got problems and we will work through them; I promise. I just might not be ready to tell you everything. And, uh. I’m not holding on too well right now. I need you stay here. Please.”

“Yes.” He nods, forcing his insecurities to the side. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

She nods once, like she’s confirming a purchase, and gestures to the bathroom. “I need to do that. Shower, I mean. I don’t mind company while I get cleaned. Just so you know.”

“While you shower, can I use your phone to see what I missed?”

Wait—is she blushing?

Yes. Yes, she’s blushing. And she’s gesturing uselessly around her head. Bucky has no clue what she’s trying to convey until, thank God, she sighs and starts talking.

“That’s not what I meant, Buchannan. I don’t want you to sit on the toilet and scroll through news articles. I want you to join me. In the shower. I dunno, rub my shoulders while I sing Shakira.”

“You sing Shakira in the shower?”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Buchannan feels his face go hot. “I might not be religious, but we talked about—”

“No, no, no! Not sex! Showering,” she clarifies, hands waving around with increased vigor. “Besides, I already know you have a penis and you know what breasts are, so there’s not too big an issue on that part. And I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He clears his throat. “I don’t have clothes here.”

“You can borrow mine, Buck.”

Eve’s expression changes in an instant. Bucky is concerned as to why she’s looking at Steve like this—eyebrows pinched, lips scowling—but before he can process that further, Steve is walking into the room.

“I have some extras,” he goes on, standing at Bucky’s side. He claps Bucky on the shoulder. “You can take your pick.”

“Go on ahead.” Bucky starts to protest, but Eve just forces a smile. “I’ll be fine. You need clothes.”

Without waiting, she grabs a towel and stalks into the bathroom. The door locks behind her. Bucky is tempted to kick Steve out and pick the lock. Despite his wariness, he does want to shower with her. And in general, really. And she just said she doesn’t want to be alone…

He sighs heavily. “Well, Steve, are we going to wait around until we grow old?” he jokes. There’s a strange look on Steve’s face that knocks the feeble attempt at humor away. Steve is… pensive. Certain, but pensive and rather apprehensive. “Steve?”

“Buck, we got a lot to talk about,” Steve says resignedly.

Bucky follows Steve outside. His shoulders are tense. His left fist clenches and relaxes. Bucky guesses it has something to do with Eve—if he’s being honest, Bucky’s getting nervous, himself. Eve doesn’t react like that unless something major happened. The scar on her neck is alarming. Steve’s behavior is alarming, too.

Steve opens the passenger seat of an old truck. His luggage is open inside, messy as all-hell. Another not-Steve-like thing. Bucky grabs a random outfit out.

Is everyone different, or am I the one that’s different? Bucky dismisses that thought. No, I’m the one that’s been in a state of not-living for five years. They’ve changed. I’m the same.

“Buck,” Steve starts in a heavy tone, “I’m going to be returning the Infinity Stones with time travel this afternoon.”

He tries for a smile. “You can’t stop being the hero, huh? Just don’t get stuck being pre-serum, I doubt you’d get approved again.”

“That’s not—shit, this is hard.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Bucky, after I put everything back, I want to stay with Peggy.”

The smile is still in place. Bucky hears himself ask, “What?” and immediately the words settle in.

“I’m going—”

“How long will you be with her?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it won’t be long from your standpoint. A minute at the most. I just wanted to let you know and ask how you feel about it.”

“What, get my input? Go for her, Steve. You deserve to get your happy ending. I’ll be fine.”

Why do his words feel hollow?

“Thanks, Buck. I don’t want to do this knowing you’re upset with me.” His eyes are clear, relieved. His smile is broad. Bucky feels a horrible thing clawing up from his abdomen. “I’ve got to get ready for the memorial. Thanks again, Buck.”

Bucky watches him walk off. As soon as Steve is out of sight, the smile drops.

You asked me and you’re doing this anyway. You could rewrite history. You could stop wars, stop HYDRA and the Red Room, before they happen. Hell, not even that—you’re leaving me for a life with your long-dead sweetheart, who moved on from you already. You’re chasing a dream. Why not be content with reality?

I wasn’t worth it after all, was I?

The ring feels like lead in his pocket, now. Bucky grips the pile of clothes harder,

I should be happy for him. This really is the ending he deserves. It’s… this is what he’s always wanted. I can be happy for him. Be selfish if I wasn’t, right?

Bucky hadn’t realized that he’d been walking until he’s in Eve’s room, closing the door behind him. Eve is on the bed, dressed in a black skirt and a white button-up. She doesn’t look up from where she’s forcing her feet into a pair of shiny black heels.

“Did you get the clothes?” she asks.

He meant to say, “Yes.”

“I wasn’t worth it,” is what comes out instead.

Eve is in front of him faster than he’d thought her capable. Her hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears he hadn’t known he was shedding.

Bucky’s knees crumpled underneath of him. Eve comes down with him, never ceasing contact, never flinching at the pain it undoubtedly brought. He’s sobbing into her shoulder. She’s holding him tightly—she’s crying too, he’ll realize in a few minutes. For now, he’s clutching her shirt and desperately trying to breathe evenly.

“You’re worth everything,” Eve is whispering. “You’re worth the five years I spent distracting myself from the fact that you weren’t there, you’re worth more than blue diamonds, more than da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi. If I had to rewrite the entire population’s DNA for you, I would. You’re more valuable to me than any constellation. You’re loved, Buchannan. You’re worth everything.”

She pulls back and kisses Bucky. He tastes tears on her lips.

“Take it out of your pocket.”

He stares, uncomprehending. He mouths the question. Eve thumbs away another tear, her expression wonderfully varied. There’s the cold steel of her determination and the grief in her smile. There’s hope, shining in her eyes, and there’s so, so much love.

“How do you know about…”

Eve’s grin broadens and wobbles. “I found out two years ago. Take it out, Buchannan.”

Bucky fumbles into his pocket. Before he can shift to one knee, she’s covering his hand—and the ring—with her own. She doesn’t look at it. She doesn’t open it. Eve looks right into his eyes, steel and fire and something gentle.

“This,” she stresses, squeezing tight, “is a promise. This is proof that you are deserving of love. You deserved to be cherished. You deserve to be remembered. You hold tight to this, you understand? You hold tight onto the belief that you are worth everything and you don’t let it go.”

“You’re hurting,” he realizes, and he hates the hoarseness of his voice. He should be strong for her. He should—

Another squeeze. Another ice-and-sunlight look.

“You’re the priority right now. We can talk about and deal with my shit later. For now, we need to get you ready.”

“He… he wouldn’t want me there.”

A car wrecks. Gasping, clawing for air. A swift strike to the head, another—

Eve’s lips against his forehead. Lingering. Chapped. Safe.

Bucky presses his mouth together. He refuses to sob again.

“He understood, after he calmed down and processes. He had to grieve. Tony…” Her voice falters. “Tony told me that he would have tolerated you. You would have liked each other, past problems notwithstanding, with some time. He didn’t forgive you completely, but he stopped hating you. So, you’re going to get your pert ass up and get something on.”

He does, slowly. Eve waits patiently. When there’s a knock on the door, Eve cracks it and coldly tells whoever it is that they can, “Wait as long as she makes them,” and she, “doesn’t have to do sweet fuck all.”

They split off when Rhodes pulls Eve to the side. He waits outside with everyone else and scans the gathered for familiar faces. Lots of people he can place, but there are some he’s never seen in his life.

He hears a choked noise behind him—Eve—and the click of the door shutting. It’s private, he reminds himself firmly. He has no right to go in there.

Even if he means to comfort Eve.

“Hey.” It’s the kid from the airport. He looks like shit. His relative, either his mom or his aunt, stands close behind him. She’s wary. The kid isn’t. No, the boy looks completely unafraid. “Where did Miss Robertson go?”

He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, she’s in there with the Stark family.”

He nods. “Okay. You, uh, you got a new arm. That’s cool.”

“Is that why you wanted to—”

“No, well kind of, but not really. There’s someone looking for her. Harley Keener, he said his name was. They met when everyone was dusty, I think.”

Bucky spots him. He’s standing awkwardly to the side, very much alone.

“She’ll talk to him later,” he says. He offers his real hand to the boy’s guardian. “Bucky.”

She shakes his hand tentatively. “I’m Peter’s aunt. Everyone just calls me May. How are you?”

Bucky wants to laugh. She’s trying so hard to be cordial and polite. “Well, not being in a state of not-being is an improvement.”

The doors swing open. Eve stalks out and makes a beeline for Bucky. She mutters a ‘hello’ to Peter and May. They sidle off. Eve wipes her eyes angrily.

“Asshole left a hologram,” she says bitterly. “Had to leave. Couldn’t sit through it.”

Bucky kisses her head, murmuring an apology. She tears away from him a moment later, just in time to ready herself for the Harley boy’s embrace. He sobs into her shoulder, bending uncomfortably to do so, and Eve meets Bucky’s eyes over his back. She smiles.

Harley relaxes after a minute or two. Between Eve’s gently combing of his hair and her voice pitched so softly, it’s no wonder that he calmed down so quickly. The young man straightens himself up. Eve holds his shoulders.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Harley.”

“How can he be gone?”

“I don’t know, Spud, but it’ll be okay. Pepper mentioned wanting you and Peter around for Morgan. You won’t be going anywhere.” The doors open again. “Do you want to stand up front with me?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m going—”

Eve freezes, eyes locking on a smaller group. She shifts backwards and clasps her hand around Bucky’s wrist. He narrows his eyes at the Barton family, unsure of why they’ve elicited such a reaction from Eve. She’s afraid of them. Why? Is she—

“I gotta go up with Pepper,” she says tightly.

Eve shares a last, teary looked with Buchannan before she catches up with Pepper and Morgan. Harley isolates himself again. Wanda and Sam come up near Bucky.

The memorial is short and to the point. It lasts forty-some minutes, if that, before everyone disperses. There are dull goodbyes. In the middle of the chaos, Bucky notices Eve slip around back. He wastes no time in following.

She’s not around the corner. The door to the garage is ajar. Bucky flicks the light on as he enters. He closes the door behind him quietly. Eve left for privacy. No wonder. These years must have been hell.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his mind whispers, sounding awfully glacial. She’s afraid and someone made her this way. Someone hurt her. Someone scarred her, harmed her. And where was she looking that made her like this?

His footsteps falter.

Clint Barton.

Clint Barton hurt her.

What did he do?

Bucky takes a breath, deep and steadying, and feels sick at the feeling uncoiling from his stomach.

This is rage. He wants blood, wants death, revenge, something, and he wants Barton to pay.

There are so many ways he can do that. He has more experience in that field than Barton. It wouldn’t be a contest. He could turn around right now and demand answers from Barton. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to the man. A spy against an enhanced, metal-armed assassin? It would be pitiful. It would be oh, so easy.

Eve needs me. She’ll tell me. Don’t… don’t do something you’ll regret.

But I wouldn’t regret that, would I?

“Eve,” he calls softly. He maneuvers around a desk and peers behind a filing cabinet. Not there. “Eve, where—”

She taps his shoulder from behind. “Here. You could have stayed; I’ll be okay in a moment.”

“What did Barton do to you?” he says quietly. She doesn’t say a word. “Eve, what did he do?”

“It was my own fault.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“He went off the rails after the Snap,” she says finally, moving to sit on the desk. Her head hangs. “Hell, we all did. Natasha wanted me to try and bring ‘im back to her, or at least talk to him. Find him. I agreed. When I found him, let him know I wouldn’t stop him if he said no. He could leave if he wanted. I’m not dumb, I wouldn’t force a skilled killer to come with me, but it went sour.” She brings Bucky’s hand to her neck. “I guess I was a liability at that point.”

Bucky follows the scar, one end to the next. He processes what Eve just told him. Quietly, he says, “He’s still here. Do you want me to take care of him?”

“He reacted validly.”

“No, he reacted like—” Like I would have, if I were still HYDRA’s Fist. Bucky swallows. “I can take care of him, Eve.”

Her hands cup his face. “Buchannan,” she says gently, “you have had enough death for several lifetimes. I don’t hate him, I’m past that, but I am afraid of him. I didn’t know he’d be here, so I didn’t prepare myself. I’m past wrath. Let him be.”

“I would. For you.”

“Don’t, for yourself. And for me, you can just let me stay here for a bit.”

Eve caresses his jaw. Her lips graze his. Bucky moves closer and lays his hands on her waist, slowly relaxing into her touch. He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing as he kisses her. She sighs against his mouth. Bucky could stay like this for ages. Then Eve is sliding a hand into his hair and down his chest—

“Y’all better not be screwing right after a funeral,” Sam’s voice breaks through. Eve startles, effectively knocking over something heavy. Bucky has half a mind to chase Sam out with a broom, but he continues speaking before the ex-assassin can reach said broom. “Barnes, Steve’s about to start.”

Bucky feels that horrible feeling washes over him again. Eve kisses his cheek with a whisper of, “Remember for me, Buchannan.”

She watches the men leave, unsettled and without protest.

A few minutes pass. Eve calms herself down.

Clint won’t hurt her. He wouldn’t do that. Should she have kissed Buchannan though? It feels like a day for him, but it’s been years. Maybe she shouldn’t have start that. Hell, Sam’s right—Tony just died, and they’ve just held his memorial. What the fuck is wrong with her?

The door swings open. Eve stares at the boy in the doorway. He’s a teenager, younger than Harley but not an adult.

“Miss Robertson? Harley said he saw you in here. Um, he wanted me to talk to you. I’m Peter Parker, by the way. Spider-Man. I’ve read about you in history books and on the news. Harley said you would want to talk to me before I left.”

Peter Parker. This is the boy Tony called his son and cried over? This is him? And he’s a superhero?

“Hi, Peter.” His bottom lips wobbles. Eve walks over to him and hugs him. He starts to sniffle. “S’okay to get it out. Doesn’t make you less of a man. Tony would beat the shit out of you if you bottled it up, bad with emotions or not.”

He half-sob half-laughs. Eve lets him cry.

“I got snot on your jacket,” he whispers.

“I’ve dealt with worse. How about I give you my number so you can get in contact with me? Today isn’t a great day to get to know you better, and I know I’m a stranger, but you get in touch with me whenever you need it. Okay?”

“Okay. Uh, Harley called you his second mom.”

“Damn right I am. I’m everyone’s second mom.” Another laugh, this one easier. Eve holds him at arm’s length, smiling gently. “Really, though. Don’t hesitate.”

“Peter!”

“Coming Aunt May!” he hollers back. He tucks Eve’s number into his pocket and, with a short wave, runs off.

Eve gathers herself up. When she walks outside, she's relieved to find that the Barton family has left. She doesn't know what she expected. An apology? A second stabbing?

This is decidedly better. Silence, not even a backwards glance, and distance. It's in the past. Let it stay there.

She sits on the porch and stares out at the lake. What happened to Natasha's body? Did she have family? A funeral? No, there wasn't time for anything like that. Natasha deserves something, some sort of memorial.

"Miss Robertson."

Eve looks up at Nick Fury, completely stunned. "I'm sorry, aren't you dead? I'm pretty sure you've been dead for years now and I'm not talking about the Infinity Stones."

"Yeah, your boyfriend legally killed me." He sits down with a smirk. "Didn't like that too much."

"I can tell. How's death been treating you?"

"It ain't a vacation, but I've got one coming up. Mind doing me a favor?"

"You certainly like favors."

"I repay them."

Eve nods sagely. "Purghaps."

"What?"

"Purgatory and--you know what? Never mind. What is it you want?"

"I saw what you've been doing after half the world disappeared."

"And?"

"And I could use that in my corner. You pack a lot of power for a human, Miss Robertson." He shifts to look at Eve more fully. He's scrutinizing her. "The world's going to be in chaos."

"It usually is."

"The world could use someone like you."

"Who'd of thought?"

"Are you going to be sarcastic or genuine?"

"I can be both, actually." Eve stands up. "Give me a call in, say, a month or two, Mr. Fury. Global-scale stuff isn't my go-to."

"Sure. If the world ends before then, I'll see you in hell."

"Thought you were already there," she mutters as she starts walking down to where Professor Hulk is standing. "Hey, Bruce, where's..."

An old man is walking towards her alongside Sam Wilson. Bucky puts a cautious hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, Eve," the old man says pleasantly.

Eve stares.

"Eve," Buchannan says quietly, "let's go walk for a bit. Sam, can you take--"

"What the fuck did you do?"

Sam and Buchannan look wary. Professor Hulk says something about needing to go and hurries off. Steve doesn't stop smiling.

"I put the Stones back."

"You know full damn well what I mean, Rogers, and don't you play coy." Bucky holds her shoulder more firmly. "Answer me right now. What did you do?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You have fucked up entire timelines!" she hisses. "Did you patriotism go straight to your ass? You have no fuckin' idea--"

"C'mon, doesn't he deserve to be happy?" Sam butts in.

Why is he holding the shield? Never mind. "He can shove his happiness. He doesn't know jack shit about--"

"Calm down--"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Captain Asshole, you don't have the fuckin' right."

"Eve," Buchannan says sharply.

"You're still upset?"

"No, I'm perfectly hunky-fucking-Dory." Eve is shaking. She hasn't been this mad in a long time. Since the last time she actually saw him. "Do you have any experience in quantum physics, theory, and probability, Rogers?" A scowl. "Ever studied the psychological and physiological repercussions that can be brought about from time travel?"

"You've made your point," Steve snaps. Even old, he manages to carry himself the same way.

Eve gets a grip on herself. A deep breath in, a short puff of an exhale, and she's turned on her heel to walk into the house.

Pepper, Morgan, and Happy are gone. The house is empty. Eve makes a beeline for the scotch cabinet and pours herself a glass.

"To Tony," she says to the empty kitchen, and starts drinking.

It's getting dark. Almost dark enough that she can see the stars, now. She pours herself another and glares into the crystal glass. The cognac is darkened by the lack of light. It's the same color as Tony's eyes.

"What was that about, Eve?"

Better to swallow down what's left and face this with some liquid courage, right?

"He potentially screwed up countless realities that coexist."

"There's more than that going on."

Eve looks up at Buchannan, not feeling any more courageous than before. The glass sways languidly in her hand. "There is."

He clenches his jaw. "Why won't you just talk to me?"

"I'm not ready to." I don't want to make a bigger mess out of this than I already have. I don't want to ruin your friendship with him.

"Bullshit."

"Buchannan, please, we can talk about it later. Please."

"We need to talk about this now." He takes the glass from her hands and plops it on the counter-top. "I asked him what that was about. He said to ask you and told me not to judge him too harshly afterwards. He did something to you, then. I need to know." He tilts her chin up. Not angry, then. Frustrated. "It's been five years. We need to start somewhere."

Eve nods. "Okay. Okay, I'll... can we sit?"

Buchannan leads her to the couch. They sit down next to each other, angled so they can look one another directly. Eve fidgets.

"I'll, um..." She laughs quietly, without humor. It's a hollow laugh. "I'm going to dump a lot on you. I'll start at the beginning, after... shit, this is hard."

Eve curls her knees to her chest. Buchannan takes her hand, metal thumb chilly against her skin. It's a wonderful, grounding sensation. She latches on to it. With a deep breath, Eve Robertson begins to explain what happened in those five years, and with every word, she watches the love of her life become increasingly less emotive.

By the time she's done, by the time five years of turmoil have been talked about, Buchannan looks blankly at her.

"So," Eve says lamely, "that's it. Not much."

"Not much?"

"I don't have it the worst. I got lucky."

The word sticks in her throat. The derisive snort that Buchannan lets out tells her he feels similarly.

"Lucky. You're calling that lucky?" He gets up, shaking his head. His voice raises. "That's pretty fucking far from 'lucky', Lebed'."

"I know."

He sets his jaw. "Come on. We're going upstairs."

"Uh. Why?"

"Because if I don't move somewhere I'm going to smack an elderly man."

"Pretty sure he's just a dick, but that works too." Eve tries for a smile. "How about that shower?"

"Fuck a shower, I need a bath."

"To the bath, then. I'll put on Shakira."


End file.
